In this Truth We See
by squishybookworm
Summary: Having traveled all of Japan for five years, Soujiro finds himself in Kyoto, where it all started and finds reflections of himself in the brown eyes of a young boy. Maybe it is here, he will find his truth. His beginning, again.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I'm the creator of Rurouni Kenshin! And if you believe that, I have a nice bridge I can sell to you for the low, low price of ten dollars.

  


In this Truth We See

by squishybookworm

  


[Mama!]

[No! Stay back, Xiao Yan!]

[Mama!]

[Li Xiao Yan, do as your mother says!]

[But . . .] The gangly teen shrunk back, her dark chocolate eyes wide. Before her stood her mother; carefully coiffed hair completely ruined and falling in graceful red-black wisps around her beautifully rounded face. She was panting heavily and she clutched a slim _darn jian_ in one hand. Her clothes were mussed with a tear in one arm, displaying a bleeding wound while dirt smudged her trouser hems thoroughly as if she'd rolled repeatedly across dew-strewn grass. Rusty brown stains blossomed here and there on her clothing. Dried blood that had soaked into the bright pink silk.

A clatter from behind the older woman caused both mother and daughter to spin around. 

For a moment, Xiao Yan caught a glimpse of the courtyard beyond. Tears sprung to her eyes and she covered her mouth as bile rose to the back of her throat.

Blood.

There was blood everywhere. On the sprawled, lifeless forms whose horrified eyes stared up to the sky emptily. It ran along the walls in careless streaks and crimson droplets streamed down to soak into the ground beneath. She could barely recognize Jing Yu, the head foreman. His pinched face now twisted grotesquely, speckled with scarlet drops from the large slash running diagonally from his right shoulder to his left hip. Xiao Yan covered her mouth with her other hand as she realized he _hadn't died right away. _

Jing Yu hands remained clawed at the gaping wound, where he'd desperately tried to close it.

[Unh!] Xiao Yan gasped. Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, tears slowly leaked out. Hot against her suddenly cold cheeks.

"Shigeta! We've found the woman!"

Xiao Yan stared up at the three men who had crowded through the door. She could not comprehend their words, but could recognize it as Japanese. Their garbs were also foreign, consisting of wide pants that fell in pleated folds and a top that tucked into the skirt-like pants.

"Where is she?" From behind the three men, another appeared. His clean-shaven face was expressionless as his retainers parted to let him through. He was neither young nor was he old. His dark Japanese eyes drooped at the corners as if he harbored a secret pain so great it became etched into his features. Slim eyebrows further accentuated this, and the narrow curve of his nose tapered out like a falcon's beak. His dark eyes met Xiao Yan's briefly. 

Something, a nameless emotion, almost akin to dread, struck her heart and she became still, barely daring to breath. He would touch her life dramatically. What he would come to mean to her, she did not know, but somehow, he would be important. Xiao Yan shook her head as if that would halt events about to occur.

Then her mother moved, blocking her view. "Japanese filth!" she spat.

Xiao Yan knew her mother had insulted the men, but they didn't react. In fact the smirk on the retainers' faces just got larger.

"Li-san," Shigeta said quietly. His eyes remained dark and serious. Despite the sweat gleaming against the shaved portion of his head and his heavy breathing, his knotted hair remained immaculate and his clothing unstained. 

Somehow, Xiao Yan found this extremely vexing. Of all of them gathered, he had not a mark of blood anywhere on his body. Even Xiao Yan had smears along her blue silk sleeves from when she tried to pull a girl out from under the wreckage of a wooden door. She wanted to scream at this spotless Japanese man and take Jing Yu's blood and throw it at him. Smear it all over his neat clothes and his dark eyes.

He pulled his curved sword and approached the two. "This day, I will let you live no longer."

His retainers backed away, snickering when her mother widened her stance and brought her sword up.

"Hey, woman, whaddya think yer gonna do wit that needle?" one said, his slanted eyes narrowing further with his leer.

"A real bitchy one, men! That's why her husband was such a spineless fop!"

"Haha!" another sneered, "Maybe she'll want some real men to teach her her place. Let's have some fun after all this is over." The others guffawed and ignored Shigeta's sharp glance.

[Xiao Yan,] her mother said quietly. [Do not dishonor your family. Do _not _dishonor me.]

Trembling, tears sliding silently down her cheeks, Xiao Yan removed her hands and swallowed. 

[Ye--] She sobbed. Then took a shuddering breath. [Yes, Mama.] Brave words, when she felt like crawling under her blanket and curling into a little ball. If her mother could hear her thoughts, she would be ashamed.

With a cry, her mother launched herself at the Japanese man. Swords flashed like the coy flirting of silver fish as they accepted a fisherman's bait. The ring of metal upon metal echoed loudly in Xiao Yan's ears as she stood frozen, panting desperately, her large chocolate eyes riveted on the battle before her. 

Any moment the man would slice her mother. From shoulder to hip just like Jing Yu. Any moment, her mother's lifeblood would join the others in painting the ground scarlet. Any moment. . . . and she could only watch.

She inhaled sharply and turned away. Bent over, clutching her ears as if to rip them off. If she couldn't hear . . . if she couldn't see . . . 

'Go away,' she pleaded silently, 'Please . . . go away. . . .'

Choking on another sob, she raised her head when silence suddenly fell.

Shigeta stood before her mother, who had fallen to her back onto the floor. His blade reflected the scarlet rays of the late afternoon sun as he unwaveringly held it a finger's length from her mother's neck. Her _darn jian_ had been flung away and now rested at Xiao Yan's feet. It gleamed dully as if reflecting its master oncoming doom.

Everyone froze. Breath sawed through parched lips to burn the throat.

Xiao Yan waited. A million thoughts raced through her mind, but all passed by like the fleeing wind and left nothing behind. She knew for certain the bright gleam of Shigeta's sword would plunge. It would fall straight down to the white neck below and plant a crimson flower there. 

But her legs would not move. Xiao Yan's knees trembled and she knew it was not the exertion of her will to make them move. 

Her mother's eyes flicked to her. The expectation was clear. The demand was there.

But Xiao Yan could not move. She could not make herself run over there and fling herself across her mother, thus taking the blow. The expected sacrifice. And she. Just. Could. Not. Move. 

Her mother's eyes darkened as realization set in. 

Then the moment passed as Shigeta stepped back abruptly, ramming his sword back into its sheathe.

Xiao Yan bowed her shoulders and sank to her knees. She felt her mother's darkly beautiful eyes drill into her lowered head, but could not make herself look up.

"Daisuke-san."

Xiao Yan's head shot up at Shigeta's voice. But he only allowed her to see his profile as he spoke again.

"Yes?" It was the man with the narrow eyes. His skin stretched taut over his sharp features as he gave a slow and ugly grin. As he did so one slim brow twitched slightly and in one corner of XiaoYan's mind, she giggled inanely at such a strange action. 

"You and your men . . . take care of the woman, too . . . in whatever way you deem necessary."

The retainers smiled lasciviously and advanced on her mother. Daisuke licked his lips looking like a cat who'd just found a very plump mouse and grinned again, making his brow twitch.

Alarmed, Xiao Yan grabbed the _darn jian_ before her and moved to stand before her mother despite the woman's venomous glare.

But she never reached her mother's side.

Shigeta blocked her way, dark eyes boring into her own, his lips turned down.  
"Leave her," he said.

[G-get out of my way,] Xiao Yan whispered. She brought her mother's blade up and readied her stance. [P-please, just go away.]

Xiao Yan did not want to fight. This Japanese man scared her. He was tall and his sharp eyes were strange. He'd beaten her mother, a master swordswoman. How could _she_ defeat him?

However, at the sight of the three men pinning down her mother and ripping away her pink silk shirt, Xiao Yan's vision blurred. The tiny scrap that had been her mother's mandarin collar floated gently past Shigeta's still form.

She slowly lifted her eyes.

[I can no longer call her 'Mother', but,] she met his steady gaze with a glare of her own, [neither will I let you disgrace her so! So stop it or I'll . . . I'll be forced to kill you.] Xiao Yan clenched her hands when she realized the fine tremors in her body were communicating themselves along her blade. She blinked new tears away and whispered, [Please. . . . Just. Stop. . . .]

Shigeta's expression did not change. His dark eyes remained focused on her own chocolate orbs. For an eternity, it seemed, she and Shigeta stared at each other. 

She was broken out of the spell when her mother's muffled cry of pain echoed to her ears and she renewed her struggle to break free of her captors.

Xiao Yan took one step forward when one of the men shoved her mother's head against the hardwood floor hard enough to elicit a pained moan. Then she realized her mistake as Shigeta suddenly pushed off from his seemingly casual position. She leapt back and brought her sword up defensively, but the older man simply knocked it away with his own, sheathed blade. Fluidly he spun his sword about. And rammed the hilt into her stomach.

Xiao Yan choked. She felt her feet lift off the ground as her body doubled over. Her mouth opened as if to scream, but nothing came out. The soft cloth of Shigeta's robe-like top brushed against her cheek. It should not be so soft, she thought. 

A bright flash beyond Shigeta caught her eye and she looked at the twirling ancestral blade of her mother. It spun about, dropping with infinite slowness as if to prolong its own demise and as if to tease her with its winking brightness before shattering into a million shards. 

But shatter it did not. It clanged hollowly against the wooden floor, ringing loudly in Xiao Yan's ears as blackness crept into the edges of her vision. A bright pink slip of cloth lay on the ground like a limp flower that had been dead for hours. 

An arm caught her gently about the waist, but she felt it from far away as if her soul had abandoned its body and now held on with the most tenuous link. That, too, eventually faded and her eyelids fluttered down gently. 

"Do not touch this one. . . . Little one. Hurry and grow up. Then come kill me. . . ."

Then she sighed and knew no more.

  
  


(Ten years later)

  


The past five years had done little to change Seta Soujiro's outward appearance. His wide, almost blue eyes still stared almost childlishly from a leaner, more mature face and the ever-present smile on his lips had not dimmed noticeably. And lately, he wondered if maybe it might be more than a bit reflective of his inner changes. Or lack thereof. 

He'd wandered most of Japan, taking an odd job here and there and keeping his promise, to a certain flame-haired Battousai, to search vigilantly for his own truth. Yet, nothing had presented itself to convince him that the special _something, _which both Himura-san and Shishio-san had possessed was even a possible reality for him. At times he found himself feeling almost . . . bored of it. How easy it would be to just . . . accept their truths. . . .

But . . . no. If he could not finish this journey himself, even Shishio-san would be disappointed. 

Which was why he found himself in Kyoto that morning, doing general menial tasks in an inn in exchange for a meal and a place to sleep that night.

He paused on the veranda. A small pile of firewood sat comfortably in the crook of his arms as he glanced beyond a half-open shoji door, to find a young boy curled in one corner, his head touching his knees. He did not move at all and if not for Soujiro's keen eyesight, he would have almost missed the slight rise and fall of the little boy's shoulders. And though, he did not make a single sound, Soujiro knew the boy was crying.

Soujiro opened his mouth, wanting to say something, yet unsure what he would say. Thankfully he was saved the task when another voice spoke up angrily.

"Haji! I should have known you were hiding there!"

A young man strode past Soujiro, suprising him greatly. The voice hadn't been particularly high, but it definitely hadn't sounded very masuline at all. But the newcomer did look . . . boyish. Almost. . . . His loose Chinese tunic over a long-sleeved, dusty white Mandarin shirt hid any telling curves, and his dark trousers tucked into laced and dirt-worn stockings, which concealed his ankles effectively. However, the flowing clothing could not hide the . . . youth's narrow shoulders and his small tanned hands when they flashed into view from underneath his voluminous sleeves.

"Do not be a coward, Haji and come finish your exercise!" Sensing another pair of eyes, the youth turned to Soujiro. 

He blinked large chocolate brown eyes and brushed away the longer strands of hair that insisted on curling around his ears and framing his face. Just then, a scarlet-gold shaft of early morning sunlight broke through the rapidly disappearing mist and wreathed his head, bringing out a deep red flare from the dark locks. Light touched his delicately rounded Chinese features, making him seem almost like a very young child then. Or a woman. . . .

Then she, no _he_, Soujiro corrected himself, frowned. "You are being very rude." He glanced down at the pile of wood in Soujiro's arms. "I think you have someplace more important to be rather than standing there gawking at me like a simpleton." 

Soujiro smiled politely and bowed his head slightly. "Please excuse my behavior." He turned and walked off, but not before catching a glimpse of the boy in the room. 

The young boy's narrow, slanted eyes stared back like a cat's glare. If not for his rounded cheeks and flame-tinted dark hair that fell messily into his brown eyes, Soujiro would have never connected his relation to the other youth. Haji's feature seemed too much sharper. Too much more like a Japanese.

"Oniisan," Haji said. "I can't. My stomach hurts."

"Your stomach hurts? That is your excuse? Now you are just being lazy!"

"No. I'm not. . . ."

"Then what are you saying, huh? You can't handle a little pain? What about Mother? _She _never complained even through the humiliation and disgrace of the last ten years! Do you want to shame her further?"

Soujiro paused, smile slipping slightly. It wasn't any of his business and he should really take the wood to the kitchen, but the youth's voice had risen and he could clearly hear the sneer in it.

"No!" Haji said quickly, "No, of course not. But oniisan, it's been hurting since I woke up."

"Any discomfort you or I may feel, it is _nothing _compared to what Mother has endured. Are you prepared to explain the extent of your selfishness, your _vanity_, when we find her? That you couldn't bear to finish one lesson because your stomach _hurt_?!"

"But I can't. . . . Please. . . ."

The youth sniffed. "Of course. I understand. After all, you can't help who you are. Stay here and snivel. Be weak."

Soujiro heard him start off in the opposite direction of the kitchen then the footsteps stopped.

"Haji, if you don't become strong . . . if you remain as you are . . . you will die for sure. . . . Mother does not tolerate weaklings."

The footsteps continued, becoming fainter, but Soujiro remained rooted. A bird chirped, fluttering its wings on the branches of the sakura tree in the modest garden that the veranda surrounded. The sun slowly brightened, soaking its warm rays into his blue kimono and touching hints of blue in his black hair. Sakura petals drifted past his still form, the sweet scent lifting up to his nose like a playful tickle.

But he could only smell the sharp scent of fresh fallen rain. Hear the pounding of a downpour long ago and feel a wetness that was not the rain.

_ "If you're strong, you live. If you are weak, then you die..."_

_"If you don't become strong . . . you will die for sure. . . ."_

  
  
  
  
  
  


A/N: So? What do you think? I'm trying to use this fic as way to build my characterization skills because I really, really need to work on that. So please give me a lot of criticisms. Especially on my dialogues and my characterization skills. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

emaN neP: Thanks for the review! And I must congratulate you on being the first and only one to have reviewed. (Smiles.)__

Disclaimer: Yes! Soujiro is mine! Mine! Wahahahaha–_hack–cough–hack–hack!_ Or so I'd like to believe. 

Don't sue me.__

In this Truth We See

by squishybookworm

_If you don't become strong . . . you will die for sure. . . . _

The statement was unnervingly close to what Shishio-san would have said. Soujiro turned, catching just the flutter of the youth's loose tunic before he disappeared around the corner.

"Oniisan!" 

The other boy - Haji, was it? - rushed out of the room. He searched frantically for the older boy and unsuccessful, turned narrow chocolate brown eyes on Soujiro.

Soujiro jerked. There was something fragile in the gaze. Something that was not the innocence of youth, yet not quite an adult. 

_THWAP!_

_Soujiro's small body slammed against the wall from the impact of the slap. He slid to the ground and curled up into a small ball, tears and whimpers wracking his tiny frame._

_"Get up, boy! I barely touched you; you're already sniveling?! I said, GET UP!"_

_WHUMP! WHUMP!_

_He curled into a tighter ball, barely recognizing his sobbing voice as he pleaded with them to stop. But the abuse continued. Interminably. _

_Why? _

_Why were they doing this?_

_"Lazy good-for-nothing! If that scoundrel father of yours hadn't been such a lecherous bastard, we wouldn't have to waste good money on such blubbering piece of shit, like you! Bastard! Bastard!"_

_WHUMPH! WHUMPH!_

_Was it because he couldn't reach the rope to get the well water? Was that why they were so mad?_

_He'd try extra hard tomorrow and be extra quick too!_

_"Bastard! Just couldn't die in your whoring mother's cursed stomach, could you?!"_

_Was it the sandal he'd accidentally snapped?_

_He'd fix it and be a good boy and never break it again!_

_"BASTARD! Stop crying! STOP CRYING, I SAID, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"_

_WHUMPF! WHUMPF!_

_It hurt._

_It hurt so much._

_ Why did they keep hitting him?_

Soujiro swallowed thickly, an unexpected curl of anger settling like a hot brand low in his stomach. Yes. The look in the young boy's brown gaze. It was the bewildered hurt of one too young yet to understand that world could be cruel just for the sake of being cruel.

He remained still, somehow afraid to even breathe as he met the boy's tremulous stare. 

"U-um. . . ." The boy hunched his shoulders and lowered his head. A faint tremor vibrated across his shoulders and he mumbled, "E-excuse me, sir. Can you tell me where . . . where the larger courtyard is? Um." He fidgeted before finishing in a rush, "T-the-innlady-said-my-brother-and-I-could-use-it!" 

Moving slowly as if any sudden movement would cause him to scamper away like a timid chick, Soujiro carefully set his pile of firewood to the side and approached the boy. 

But Haji did not move. He followed Soujiro's shadow as it approached him and tilted his slim brows in confusion. The smell of warm miso soup drifted from somewhere beyond the small courtyard and mixed agreeably with the subtle scents of sakura and wisteria. Pink petals drifted from the tree, fluttering gracefully across Haji's still form and tangled in his hair. Light frolicked, bringing out the fiery hue, like the rays of a sunset, fingering into the fringe between blue sky and velvet night. Golden skin stretched taut over a clenched jaw and the glimmer of tears were rapidly blinked away. 

Soujiro crouched before the boy. Peeked up into the boy's face, careful to keep the harshness out of his smile when the coal in his stomach seemed to leap up into his heart and spread itself through his body with the blood of the pumping organ. A thump and the barely perceptible vibrations moved through the floorboards from a nearby room where a man had rolled over in his sleep. His dreams remained undisturbed as the white rice paper of his window slowly brightened, illuminating the edge of his dark blue blanket and playing among the untidy pile of his baggage, lying forlonly in the corner of the sparsely furnished room. 

Tightening his hands in the folds of his hakama, Soujiro swallowed thickly, but words would not come. What could he say. . . ?

_ If you're strong, you live. If you are weak, then you die... _

Back then, those had been Shishio-san's words.

Soujiro opened his mouth.

"Hajime Stop being lazy and come here!"

Then a cloud swept over the sun and it all disappeared. 

Haji spun around at the sound of his brother's voice, "Um, okay!" He turned back to Soujiro, who had instinctively slipped a pleasant smile onto his face. In the sakura tree, a bird chittered loudly and was answered just as noisily by another. The clamor of people just beginning to open shops or set up stalls out in the streets came, muffled, through the thin wooden walls and a faraway playful screech of a little girl soaked through with an accompanying laugh. In his room, the slumbering man turned once again, but this time, towards the door, where the sunlight no longer warmed the thin square papers.

Haji stared at the brunette a moment longer then bowed slightly and said, "Um, thank-you, sir and um, sorry about bothering you, sir, but that's my brother and I can find my way there now. Um . . . Thanks again."

With that, he ran down the veranda, only pausing at the corner to give Soujiro another curious glance before disappearing.

Soujiro sighed, smile still plastered on his face. 

What would he have said anyway?

Her lips twitched in irritation as she swept one hand behind her neck, under her mandarin collar, and dislodged the short strands of wet hair that had snaked down during the lesson then slanted a critical eye towards Haji's still form. 

They stood under an oak tree in a moderate courtyard. The packed dirt comprising the short and winding paths through the neatly-kept garden, was evenly lined with medium-sized stones that matched the colorful array used to build the koi pond. Water lapped gently and occasionally, a soft slap and splash would sound as a koi, bright like a gold coin, came to the surface as if curious of the two who had taken residence near their watery home.

The sounds of people going about their morning routine filtered through the young ferns and dainty morning glories, bringing a soft, intimate, yet indistinct murmur as of lovers just beginning to awaken to each other's warm embraces. Morning sunlight gilded the surrounding rooftops and filtered through the budding branches above, to dapple their forms. A bird twittered above, followed closely by the scolding chatter of a bushy-tailed squirrel. 

A shudder ran the length of Haji's spine and his arms and legs trembled slightly. The strain of holding his posture for two hours straight. Usually, Xiao Yan had him finish the exercise within an hour and then they would go through various forms of their martial arts, but the punishment had been necessary for his slothfulness that morning. Really. Mother would have been angry. Very angry. He was lucky Mother wasn't around this time. 

Swiping away the errant curls from her face, Xiao Yan frowned then barked, "Hajime! Your arm is dropping. Keep it up." 

How did he expect to become stronger with such little resolve? And Mother. What would she think if his training had deteriorated in the time she'd been gone? That Xiao Yan had shirked in her responsibilities? 

She would be disappointed. Deeply disappointed, Xiao Yan was sure. She probably wouldn't show it and pretend a disinterest, but Xiao Yan knew otherwise. She would worry, of course, at such slovenliness in her only child and would be deeply ashamed at such behavior. Of course. No doubt about it.

Haji's arm drooped slightly again and Xiao Yan sighed. Continuing his training in her mother's frequent and lengthy absences had shown her the extent of his endurance, and it seemed that now, he was reaching it.

"Put your arms down. Relax," she said.

Haji slowly lowered his arms and straightened his legs, relaxing aching muscles.

"Dragon step, crouch, then a kick," Xiao Yan instructed briskly, "One hundred. Then get cleaned up and have breakfast. I'll tell them to send some to the room."

Haji nodded quickly and began the exercise she'd laid out for him as she left. At the garden's edge, she stopped.

Without turning around she said, "I will be out all day, so I expect you to stay in the room, do you hear? I'll inform the proprietor to bring you your meals."

She'd already clambered onto the veranda and was walking away by the time his soft 'Yes, oniisan,' reached her ears. He'd always called her 'oniisan' although it had always been understood, in thier household, that he was not her mother's child, even if he was born from her womb. It was an explicit understanding that carried to her. Just as Haji was not her mother's child, Xiao Yan was not a girl and not a boy. Thus she was a girl playing a boy's role, yet she was neither because the boundaries that separated both had been blurred and erased so thoroughly for her that she could never truly be either.

This was her just punishment. As meted out by her honorable mother for the events that had occured ten years before. To repay a stain of dishonor that would be remembered forever.

Turning the corner that led to their room in the inn, Xiao Yan turned to observe her younger half-brother.

A fringe of messy, flame-tinted dark hair fronded across his puckered forehead as he concentrated on accomplishing a correct dragon step. At times, upon seeing this feature he'd inheritated from her, her mother would scowl darkly and grab her sharp sewing scissors and chop off his hair right there, until he was left with nothing but an uneven fuzz. Lately, however, she'd been so preoccupied with some other matter that she hadn't noticed the length of Haji's hair, and no one had ever bothered to trim his hair because it would inevitably be shorn by her mother. Xiao Yan supposed she should do something. . . .

Haji stepped too far forward in his dragon step and leaned to the side slightly as exhausted muscles protested the movement. But he finished the step and moved on to the next part of the exercise, his slanted eyes narrowing further with strain. 

Really. Why was he moving so sluggishly? Was it the heat? Well, it was a bit warmer, but _she_, herself, had had no problems adjusting to it. Maybe she should have extended the punishment? After all, it wouldn't do to have his tainted blood showing through. 

Xiao Yan turned to go. And promptly ran into a wall of flesh.

"Oh!"

"Ow!" She fell onto her bottom, legs sprawling, and clutched her nose instinctively.

"I'm sorry, sir. Are you hurt?"

A young man sat across from her in the same loose-limbed position she was in. He rubbed his chin absently and gave her a sheepish smile that didn't quite reach his midnight-blue eyes. 

Xiao Yan repressed a shiver. It was the man from earlier. His earth-brown hair, shorn shorter than her own, grazed his ears and the collar of his kimono messily, giving him a very boyish look, yet the congenial smile on his face somehow felt . . . unpleasant. Shen-shen, she immediately thought. 

"Did I hit your nose, sir? I'm really sorry," he said. He stood up quickly, offering his hand.

She slapped it away. "You'd better be sorry," she snapped. Really. He unnerved her. She hadn't felt his presence until she'd run into him. Even now, she could barely detect his chi.

"Please excuse my clumsiness," he said, smile dropping slightly, "If there's anything I can do, please tell me."

"Whatever," she muttered as she scrambled to her feet. "Just watch where you're going next time."

She brushed past him and continued to her room, ignoring the piercing gaze he sent to her back. 

Once she'd closed the shoji door of her room, she paused and lowered her head in thought. She'd never seen the man before, but he was obviously a martial artist of some sort. The way he had moved had been graceful, yet efficient and he'd been skillful in concealing his chi. 

Who was he? Really. He was quite strange.

Shaking her head as if to physically dispel the thought, she cleaned herself quickly and changed her mandarin shirt before donning the same tunic again. A long and narrow, cloth-wrapped object rested next to their packs and she reached for it. Then hesitated. She smoothed the rough material against the object beneath. Really. It was unnecessary and she was sure it would draw undue attentions, but she felt more confident with it in hand like she might be more than "not a girl" and "not a boy". A swordswoman. Maybe. Eventually, smiling wryly, she shook her head and left.

On the veranda, she passed Haji, who was sweating profusely and was quite flushed from his exertions. He was rubbing his stomach distractedly and when he saw her, opened his mouth to speak. 

She swept pass him. Really. She was in a hurry. He'd have to wait until she got back.

In the front she found the proprietor's wife, Ayu, just bidding farewell to a couple in freshly laundered traveling clothes. Xiao Yan waited patiently, studying the simple décor that adorned the wooden walls of the small room, while the small woman finished her business. Indecipherable conversations drifted from the street through the open door, punctuated occasionally by a dog's bark. Ayu finished and turned. 

"Ayu-san?"

"Yes?" 

She smiled prettily, light-brown eyes twinkling. Crow's feet radiated from the corners of her eyes, yet they only lent another level of beauty to the graceful woman. Her elegantly coiffed, black hair and flower-patterned kimono added to the air of sophistication and motherliness she exuded. She made Xiao Yan slightly uncomfortable.

"I am searching for information," Xiao Yan began. "Someone who can give me information, actually."

"Really? I may be able to help."

"Well. I'm looking for a man."

"A man? A Japanese man?"

"Yes." 

"What is his name?"

"I do not know his surname. I only know that he went by the name 'Shigeta'." Xiao Yan prayed that Buddha would forgive her lies, but this was the only lead they had. Somehow, she doubted 'Daisuke' would be easy to find.

Ayu tilted her head, pondering. "Unfortunately, that's a very common name. I would imagine it would be very hard even if you knew his surname, but . . . Does he have any distinguishing marks or did he wear a kimono at all? Does he live in Kyoto?"

Xiao Yan shook her head. "I don't know. I only met him once and that was before Hajime was born. But I do remember that he had dark eyes that drooped at the corners."

"Hmmm," Ayu hummed. Then she shook her head and sighed. "I'm sorry, dear, but I can't help you."

Xiao Yan flinched slightly at the 'dear', but managed to hide it as a smile and a shift in her stance. "Perhaps you know someone I can ask . . . ?"

Ayu stared at her. Hard. As if she was trying to pull Xiao Yan's soul out with her gaze alone. Xiao Yan stilled. It was the same look her mother had when she was assessing whether Xiao Yan was ready to move to the next level of her training.

Ayu beamed, obviously happy at what she found. "Maybe Kashiwazaki Nenji-san may help."

"Kashiwazaki Nenji-san?"

"Yes. He is very knowledgeable and knows many people. If he can't help you then he might be able to direct you to someone who will be able to."

"Where can I find him?" Xiao Yan fought to keep her voice modulated. Like an educated man, her mother would say before giggling strangely. Xiao Yan hated her when she did that. Then would immediately feel ashamed for thinking such unworthy thoughts.

"He runs a restaurant, called the 'Aoiya'," Ayu said. 

"The Aoiya?"

Ayu nodded and gave her directions. "If you get lost, just ask anyone. They'll be able to direct you to it."

Xiao Yan blinked. "Are they that famous?"

Ayu nodded again. "Yes. But not because of their inn. Now you should go or you'll never be able to get there and back again before dark."

Ignoring the cryptic response, Xiao Yan nodded and bowed. "Thank you, Ayu-san. Oh, and one more thing."

"Hm?"

"I'd also like to ask you to do a favor for me," Xiao Yan said.

"Mama!" A voice from the back interrupted their conversation as a young girl emerged from the curtained doorway that separated the foyer from the hallway that led to the rooms. "Satsuki's being a butthead again! I told him to clean the large room and he dumped the water all over the floor!"

Ayu sighed. She smiled apologetically to Xiao Yan before turning her daughter. "Get it cleaned up, then, silly girl! We'll need that room tonight for Iwamoto-san's dinner party and what will they say if we give them a room smelling like mud?"

"I'm not silly!" she cried. "Besides, it was _his _fault! _He _should clean it up!"

"Keiko-chan. . . ."

Xiao Yan backed away slightly. Surely this woman would lash out at her daughter for such a surly and disrespectful tone. She did not want to get caught up in it, yet the thought of the small woman physically striking her daughter, disappointed Xiao Yan greatly. 

But the young girl simply giggled and replied impishly, "Alright, alright. But only if Satsuki gets bath duty today!"

Ayu shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "Get going before I give you _both_ outhouse duty!"

Her daughter gulped, eyes widening and disappeared back through the curtains.

Ayu allowed her small grin to blossom into a full smile. "And there goes my children again. I'm sure you understand, ne? You and your brother often squabble, too?"

Xiao Yan shrugged. No, they never argued because Haji had been raised well. He was quiet until she had need of him. Other than that, there was nothing to talk about, much less argue over.

"Well?" Ayu asked after it became apparent that the young Chinese would volunteer no more information.

". . . Huh?"

"What is the favor?" Ayu was smiling again, eyes laughing merrily. 

"Oh, yes." What was so funny anyway? "Please send breakfast and lunch to my room. My younger brother will be there."

Ayu frowned, still managing to look like she was laughing silently at some private joke. "He'd be happier eating out in the city, I would think." Her frown dropped and she regarded Xiao Yan seriously. "Or even better, he could go with you. Boys of his age should be out and running about."

Xiao Yan's gaze sharpened and her mouth twitched slightly. "I don't think you need concern yourself."

Not looking in the least contrite, Ayu turned away to begin organizing her books at the counter that ran parallel to the wall next to the door. "Yes. Of course, you are right." She glanced out of the corner of eye at the silent "boy" next to her. "I will make sure your brother is fed well, but I will let him eat with my children. I will not let him stay in that tiny room all day."

Xiao Yan considered a moment then nodded. "Agreed."

She paused before saying hesitantly, "I have one more question, Ayu-san. I wanted to know; who was that shen-shen man?"

"Shen-shen?"

Xiao Yan colored slightly. "Um, I meant a man who I saw earlier. He's about this tall." Xiao Yan raised her hand about a handspan above her own head. "Has dark hair and eyes . . . blue, like the depths of an ocean. . . ."

The small lady's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Ah. You must mean Soujiro. He's a wanderer. He'll be here until tomorrow morning." She winked. "Handsome young man, don't you think?"

Xiao Yan's brown eyes widened, "Oh, no, Ayu-san. It isn't what you think! . . . Thank-you, Ayu-san. I must go now!"

It wasn't until she was out the door did Xiao Yan realize what Ayu had meant with that statement. She slapped her forehead. Merciful Buddha, how did she know? 

  
  


Soujiro wrung the rag. Water spilled out in little streamlets and trickled to the wooden bucket below. It tinkled like the wind chimes he'd seen Ayu-san hanging around the inn. It was pleasing. But strange that he found this simple chore so peaceful, especially since most memories he had of scrubbing floors were connected to _those _people.

"Seta-san! Are you going to work or are you going to stand there all day like a goof?" Keiko, Ayu's youngest daughter, planted her small fists on her hips indignantly. 

"Leave the man alone, Keiko," Satsuki said. He was older than Keiko by one year and trying to pretend he was much older than that to impress the calm ronin their mother had taken in. "The spill was our fault, so we should take responsibility."

"Ooooohh, no. You mean, the spill was _your _fault and _you_ should take responsibility."

"It was not! You made me spill it!"

As the conversation quickly escalated into bickering, Soujiro shook his head. They were interesting people. Quick to voice their opinions and not at all apologetic. They were very interesting people.

Very different from the Chinese youth and his younger brother. He'd peeked in on the last part of their unusual exercise. Haji had been in obvious pain. His face would spasm occasionally and his hands jerked, but he would not drop the position his brother had told him to hold. The slow flush creeping onto his face and the sharp hitch in Haji's breathing had been obvious enough to Soujiro that he wondered that the older brother did not notice.

He a felt strange relaxation on his face and realized his smile had almost completely disappeared. Shortly after his run-in with the elder Chinese, Haji had walked by him. His head had been lowered and he'd been clutching his stomach strangely. He hadn't even noticed Soujiro smiling politely at him.

"Seta-san!" Keiko scolded, "I don't see those hands moving! You know what they say: No work, no time for playing at the river!"

"Idiot," her brother responded, "It's no work, no pay!"

"I know that! I was just saying that for fun. You're the idiot!"

"Am not!"

"Am too!"

Soujiro smiled again. He really shouldn't dwell on the Chinese pair. He probably would never see them again.

"Oh, Kami-sama! Help! Please, someone, help!"

_"Help! Someone, anyone, help me!"_

Soujiro tensed. Senses stretched to their limits and he reached for the nonexistent sword at his side. When his hands came up empty, he shook his head and raced towards the voice. Too late, he remembered he'd been without a blade for almost five years now. Since leaving Shishio-san. 

"Seta-san?!" Keiko and Satsuki echoed.

His feet pounded against the wooden floorboards, causing faint tremors. Air whipped his dark chocolate hair back as all along the hallway, doors slid open and people stared at the young man in blue as he rushed by. Some recoiled as they caught sight of his dilated ocean-blue eyes and a woman fainted, feeling as if she'd stared into a void, chilling and remorseless. 

Tenken no Soujiro was here.

"Hajime-kun!"

He faltered. 

Hajime-kun? Wasn't that the other name the youth had used for his younger brother?

". . . at's going on here?"

". . . heard a scream and . . ."

"Hajime-kun, wake up!"

"Is that Ayu-san?"

He rounded a corner, coming onto the veranda and ran down the length, tempted to use the shukuchi. But even as he finished that thought, he reached the knot of people that had gathered outside one of the rooms. 

"Let me through." There was no time to temper his words. His heart was fluttering strangely and it seemed unnaturally loud. Like anyone could hear it easily. The men gave him surprised looks as they quieted suddenly and separated readily for him

He walked sedately through the small crowd, ever-present smile still plastered onto his face. 

The proprietor's wife cradled Haji's head in her lap as she cried loudly for the small boy to wake up. 

Haji did not respond. His head lolled limply. Sweat plastered flame-touched dark hair to his forehead. He breathed deeply though, his chest rising and falling and Soujiro let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He bent down to pick up the child. 

"You, there." He looked at the men, picking out one by catching his gaze and holding it. "Unroll the futon. You, fetch a healer. You, assist Ayu-san in retrieving water and towels. And the rest of you, make yourself useful or get out of here."

No one disobeyed as the Tenken's obsidian gaze landed on them. He smiled. Men twice his age scrambled to excuse themselves. They would later reassure themselves that the chill they had felt had been a late winter wind and not the dark abyss of the young man's eyes.

Soujiro gently placed Hajime's light body on the futon once it had been unrolled and carefully arranged the thin limbs into comfortable positions. He used the sleeve of his faded kimono to blot the boy's forehead. 

Heat radiating off the boy seemed to sear through his sleeves and burn his hand. Pressing his lips slightly, Soujiro came to a decision and swiftly undid the frog clasps of the boy's tunic. He opened Hajime's high-collared shirt and slipped both articles off. 

A tenseness flowed from his shoulders and he blew a silent sigh. A few scars marked Hajime's golden skin, but they were the marks a martial artist inevitably earned in sparring matches with another opponent. 

"Here's the water, Soujiro-san," Ayu said as she and another man bearing linen strips came through the door. 

"Thank-you very much, Ayu-san. Sir." Soujiro smiled and moved aside reluctantly to allow Ayu to begin sponging the sweat off Hajime.

He sat down in one corner, folding his arms, and watching Ayu's ministrations in silence. Everything should be fine, then. He could stop ruminating on these unusual Chinese people. Haji would be fine once he got older and could get away from that youth he called brother.

When she finished, Ayu turned with a relieved smile. "He doesn't seem as bad as I'd initially thought. Soujiro-san, could you stay with him until the healer comes? I'll send some soup and water along with your breakfast, but I have to get back to the front."

"Of course. I understand, Ayu-san. You have been more than helpful and I'll make sure Hajime-kun understands that when he wakes up."

"No need." Ayu gave him another merry smile and left.

Soujiro kneeled by Hajime's side then placed one hand against the boy's head. It was still hot, but thankfully dry. The head shifted beneath his fingers and the young boy opened his chocolate brown eyes.

Soujiro froze. The same fragility he'd seen earlier shone in Hajime's painfully young eyes, and he was speechless. A tightness like that of a stranglehold squeezed his throat suddenly and he could hardly force himself to maintain eye contact with the small boy. What could he say? 

Maybe . . .

". . . Hello." Soujiro smiled easily from more than fifteen years of practice.

"Um . . . hi." Hajime shifted uncomfortably.

". . ." Soujiro smiled.

". . ." Hajime averted his gaze.

". . . Are you comfortable?"

"Um . . . 'M'kay."

"How do you feel?"

"Um . . . 'kay. . . ."

"Ayu-san found you. She also cleaned you off."

"Oh. Um . . . thanks."

"Are you hungry?"

". . . Um, I'm really thirsty."

"Ayu-san has sent some water and breakfast. It'll be here any moment. Are you still feeling hot?"

". . . Yeah. . . ." 

Soujiro dipped a fresh towel in the cool water, so relieved to have something to do, his hands began trembling slightly. Quickly he wrung the cloth out then placed it onto Hajime's forehead. Hajime studied his movements intently. As if trying to figure out why he was doing any of this and after the young swordsman had finished, he summoned the courage to blurt, "Who are you?"

"My name is Soujiro. Seta Soujiro. . . ." He winced, realizing belatedly that the alias he'd given Ayu-san was Yamato Soujiro. Too late for that now and he could only hope Hajime wouldn't accidently give his real name. Yet he was still glad that the boy would know his real name. "And you are . . . ?"

"Oh. Um, I'm Haji."

Soujiro's smile dipped. ". . . Just . . . Haji?"

"Yeah."

"But earlier, I heard your brother call you 'Hajime'."

"Oh. He calls me that sometimes. My real name is Haji."

Shame? Who would name their child 'Shame'? Soujiro narrowed his ocean-blue eyes slightly. His smile thinned, feeling unnatural at that moment. Like someone was pinching his cheeks.

He'd also unconsciously presented a strange and scary grimace to the young half-Japanese boy causing said boy to widen his eyes in alarm and scoot closer to the kneeling Tenken. 

"I'm sorry," he cried. "Please don't leave me!"

Soujiro blinked. His smile lowered, but didn't disappear completely. "What? Oh, no, I wasn't planning on leaving you and you should really stay still, okay?"

"But . . . you looked mad. Did I do something wrong?"

_Was it because he couldn't reach the rope to get the well water? _

"No. No. It wasn't you, Hajime. Not you at all."

"Are you sure?" His slanted eyes creased in worry and he reached out to grasp the dark blue material of Soujiro's hakama.

_Was it the sandal he'd accidentally snapped?_

"Hajime." Soujiro softened his smile to be as reassuring as possible. "I wasn't angry with you. I was angry with your brother."

"Oniisan?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

This brought Soujiro up short. 

Why, indeed? What did it matter to him how the brother wanted to call his sibling? Why was he not as angry with the unknown parent of this child? Why did the memory of large brown eyes make a brand of rage start low in his stomach almost making him physically sick?

Luckily he was saved from answering by a low knock at the door and the doctor announcing himself. Hajime's grip tightened and he would not let go, even when the healer bent down to inspect him, so Soujiro sat with him until the doctor left; until breakfast was over; until Hajime fell asleep. And even then, he had to pry the boy's fingers off gently.


	3. Chapter 2

ophlfaen: I'm glad you like it so far.  Thanks for telling me how I'm doing in integrating Chinese and Japanese culture, but I probably won't make it a very serious issue in this fic because I really know next to nothing about the two cultures.  So if you do see any mistakes I might make, please point them out to me.  (Smiles.)

emaN neP2: Thanks!

Silver Nightingale: Agh!  You're right!  I don't normally check my profile settings, but after you and another reviewer mentioned this I went back and saw that annoying little button, which I had never, ever noticed before!  It was still checked.  GAH!  I'm really sorry, I'm more than a little slow and thank you very much for pointing that out to me.  (Sigh.)

I'm also curious about the minor mistakes I've made.  Please tell me what they are so that I can avoid them in the future.  Thanks a lot!

A/N:  I know this is normally reserved for the end, but seeing as I didn't have one in the last chapter, I think I can cheat a little here.  Heheh.  But I just wanted to point out that, yes, I have unchecked that aggravating little button, which doesn't allow anonymous reviews.  And I am extremely sorry to all those who wanted to leave a review and couldn't.  I'm very sorry, guys.  I'm very, very slow.

Disclaimer:  I don't look like Nobuhiro Watsuki, do I? (You better say no, 'cause I'm female.)  Obviously I don't own Rurouni Kenshin then.  

(This disclaimer shall apply to all subsequent chapters.  Thank you.)

In This Truth We See

By squishybookworm SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1

Their stares were like a prickling along the back of her neck.  Xiao Yan resisted the urge to roll her shoulders to rid herself of the itch between her shoulders.  Really.  Didn't these people have something better to do than to stare at her like that? 

Or did they suspect she was not really a he?  Xiao Yan almost stopped abruptly in the middle of the traffic of people to slap her forehead again.  First Ayu and then almost the whole of Kyoto?

She shook her head absently.  No.  Maybe it was just her clothes.  After all, no one had spared her and her brother much of a glance last night when they'd gotten off the train.  So many foreigners about the platform that two or three bodies wearing Chinese clothing were not commented upon.  And the wide and darkened street, where the Daidoujiya was found, had been almost deserted except for a few drunks staggering out of brightly lit dining establishments and late workers closing shop.  They'd all been too drunk or too busy to pay notice to the Chinese youth and his little brother and their decidedly foreign garb.

Yes.  Maybe she should look into purchasing clothing more appropriate to the region?  Distasteful as it seemed.

But the kimono just showed such an indecent amount of skin at the throat, especially the men's.  Really.  Did these people have no sense of propriety?  Of course she could just wear her mandarin shirt underneath like that shen-shen man.  The thought of _him _brought another irritated frown to her face.  Really.  What an annoyingly inscrutable man.

"Tofu!  Get yer Tofu, here!"

Xiao Yan neatly sidestepped the hawker and his crates balanced on a long pole and paused next to a stall where an assortment of foreign fruits were spread out like a lady's colorful jewelry box.  Her stomach rumbled lowly and it was then, she realized that she had left the inn without any breakfast.

"Young man?  Young man?"  A woman shouted over the din of the human traffic, waving at her to get her attention.

"Can I interest you in some raspberries?"  The young woman waved some yellow, oblong objects gathered into a bunch at Xiao Yan.  "Or maybe some bananas?" she continued, "They say Americans eat this everyday to become bigger and stronger!  But I'll bet you're already plenty big enough."

She winked and smiled at Xiao Yan in a way that had her backing up nervously, almost bumping into an American couple.  They glowered, but moved on quickly.

Xiao Yan eyed the bright fruit.  She was also going to ask this Okina for some very important information and it wouldn't hurt to bring him some kind of gift.  She cleared her throat and pointed to the bananas.  "Those, please."

She immediately regretted her decision when the woman's smile turned predatory and she caressed the fruit suggestively.

"Of course," the vendor purred, twirling a finger around the thin ebony plait that snaked over her shoulder.  "Should I wrap them up with_ my_ own hands?"

"Um."  Xiao Yan brushed away the curls from her face and discreetly wiped the sweat that had also suddenly gathered there.  Really.  The day was not _that_ hot, was it?  And why did this woman make her muscles tense in readiness for a fight . . . . Or flight.

"I . . . I think I'll just take them as they are, thank you."

The young woman pouted and held the fruit out to her.  "That'll be five hundred yen."

Xiao Yan gaped.  "That's robbery!"

"No.  That's business."  Then the woman got a calculating look.  "Of course . . . I can change it for _you_, but I'll expect payment in a different form. . . ."

"No!"  Xiao Yan was sure she was as red as the raspberries the woman had pointed to earlier.  "I mean!  Five hundred yen sounds more than fair!"

The woman vendor shrugged.  "Your loss."  She shook the bunch in her hands. "Well?  Come and get it."

Xiao Yan skittered closer and tentatively reached for the bananas.  As her fingers closed around fruit, the woman suddenly let go.  In the ensuing confusion, she tried to tangle her hands with Xiao Yan's, but almost twenty years of martial arts allowed the Chinese woman to nimbly snatch the fruit and back away quickly.

The vendor pouted again, but the lascivious gleam remained in her blue eyes.  It was uncomfortably close to what Xiao Yan saw in the many Flower girls of the brothels she passed occasionally.  Xiao Yan almost threw her money at the woman and turned around, dodging through the crowd as quickly as possible.

She was not running away.  Merely putting as much distance as possible between herself and the frightening woman.

Behind her the woman called out one last time, "If you ever want any more _bananas_, young man, just ask for Hoshino Fumiko!"

Xiao Yan ducked behind a tall man, hoping to cut off the disturbing woman's line of sight.

"Oof!"

"Hey!  Watch where you're going!"  A dark-haired girl with a long, thin plait shoved her back.  Unfortunately, Xiao Yan had reflexively clenched her fists, grabbing onto what she could find to save her balance.  And by the time she'd realized the soft material underneath her hands was the girl's dark blue and koi patterned kimono, they were both falling.

Really.  Where did these Japanese people come from?  It seemed every time she turned around she was running into someone.  She swore they were doing this on purpose.

"Eeeek!"

And why did they have to have such high screechy voices?

"Oof!"  And wear such a bulky sash?  It felt like her mother had just punched her in the stomach.

Involuntarily, a groan of pain escaped Xiao Yan's lips.  The girl was only slightly shorter than she was and Xiao Yan had taken her full weight.

"Please," Xiao Yan gasped, "You're too heavy.  Get off me!"

"Heavy?!  _Heavy?!_"

The body lifted off suddenly and Xiao Yan took in blessed gulps of air as she quickly rolled to her feet.

"I'll give you heavy, you little brat!"

The distinct flare of chi was Xiao Yan's only warning before she rolled away from a well-aimed punch.  However, in the crowded street, this move only served to crash her headlong into a knot of people's legs.

"Eek!"

"Hey!'

"What the-"

"A pervert!  It's a pervert!"

"What's going on he-"

". . . you think you're doing?!"

With more colorful curses and shrieks, the swiftly movings bodies slowly ground to a halt.  People swiftly backed away from the entangled legs, arms, and outraged voices.

Xiao Yan grunted lowly and freed herself from the pile of human bodies.  "Hey!" she shouted, "What was _that _for?  It's not my fault you're a klutz!  Why don't you apologize?!"

"Apologize?  What for?  You were the one who ran into me!"  The girl's blue eyes flashed as she shook her sleeve at Xiao Yan.  "And look!  You got dirt all over my new kimono!  Now what am I supposed to do, huh?  How can I let Aoshi-sama see me like this, now?  It's all _your _fault if he never speaks to me again and geez, I itch!  That's _your _fault, too!"

"_I _got dirt . . . ?  _My _fault . . . ?"  Xiao Yan's gape turned into an irritated frown as she growled lowly.  "What about _me_?!  You landed on me!  My back must be a mess now!"

The girl matched her glare for glare.  "You're a boy; what are you getting all snippety about?  Boys are supposed to _like _dirt, aren't they?"

"And little girls are supposed to have manners, aren't they?"

"A girl?!  Who're you calling a little girl, you little punk?!"

Xiao Yan blinked.  Was this girl really a boy?  In the Japanese's bulky kimono, she had a hard time finding the girl's – boy's? – figure.  "Are you really a boy?"

"What?!  A boy?!  A _boy?!_"  Misao bit her lip and growled, biting more of her more choice words.  She was a woman -- a _woman -- _now and must be feminine and not lose her temper.  Right.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Don't think about knocking that little punk right onto his -- just breathe.  Right.

Grr.

"Now, Misao, I'm sure he didn't mean it like that."  Another woman, with her brown hair up in a tidy twist, shifted the cloth-wrapped parcel in her arms and placed one placating hand on the Misao's trembling shoulder.

"Omasu!  He just called me a boy!  And before that he called me a _girl!_  And then he tried to cop a feel on me, too!  You want me to just leave a pervert like that?  Huh?  I'm going to kick his ass!"  Ignoring Omasu's exasperated cry, Misao launched herself at the Chinese boy, her specially tailored kimono readjusting readily to accommodate her movements.  Her arm swept forward, sending a single kunai toward the boy.  She smirked.  She wasn't going to hurt him.  Just scare him a little.

The small knife flew towards the boy and he _saw_ it.  Misao knew he saw it.  His eyes tracked the approaching projectile and he didn't move.  It flew harmlessly past his head, causing a few of the red-black strands curling around his ears to flutter back like laces in the wind.  It thunked solidly into a wooden pole behind him.

He _saw _it.

He knew she was aiming to miss.  She'd made sure there was no one behind him and threw it fast enough that he wouldn't have had time to react, but he'd been aware of it.  He'd seen it coming and hadn't even blinked.

His face slowly relaxed, becoming expressionless.  He stared at Misao silently.

Misao scowled, feeling a chill finger down her spine.  But she couldn't stop her charge now.  And besides, the perverted brat deserved a good whack!

She swung a well-aimed punch at the boy's head.  A head, which was suddenly not there.

"Ack!"

Misao felt her world turn upside down.  Then upright again.  Then she found herself on her knees, with her arms twisted behind her back in way that if she moved, she would be in agony.

"Ooooo!  Let go of me!  Let go of me, I said!  If you don't I'll keicho kick your ass back to China!  I mean, once I get out . . . but you're gonna get an ass-whoopin' either way, you little punk!  Let go, I said!  I meant it!"

"Oh, reeeally?"

Ooo!  The nerve of that little brat!  Kami!  He was so going to regret it!  Once she got through with him, he'd never forget the name of Makimachi Misao ever again!

"Just how do you propose to get out of my little hold here?  Really.  You Japanese rely too much on your swords.  Even my younger brother can get out of this hold easily."

"Aaargh!  I am so going to make you eat those words!  Now leggo and fight fair!  Ow!  Ow!  Ouch!  Stop being so rough!  What kind of man are you; treating a lady like this?!"

"Just stop squirming!"

"I swear!  Ouch!  _Look _at my kimono.  This is definitely your fault, you know.  Ow!  Hey, WATCH IT!  Ow!"

"You were the one who attacked me!  And stop squirming!"

"No WAY!  You're probably gonna get all perverted on me."

He snorted.  "I'd rather be bitten repeatedly by a poisonous snake."

"WHAT?!  What was that?!  Ha!  I'll bet you're a wimp!  You're such a girly-girly boy, you can't do it!"

He rolled his eyes.  "That was just so stupid; I'm not even going to comment on it."

Misao squawked incomprehensively.  Why couldn't she keep her humongous mouth shut?

"Omasu!" she shouted.  "Why aren't you doing anything?  This pervert's getting fresh on me!"  Misao jerked once again.  "Ooowwww!"

"Who's getting fresh on who?  You started it by throwing the kunai!"

"You groped me first!"

"You got in my way!"

"You ran into me!"

"I did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Misao!"  The sharp reprimand in Omasu's voice stopped the ebony-haired ninja before she could continue the witty exchange.  "Sir, I'm very sorry for my friend's behavior and if you'll release her, I'm sure she'll apologize, too.

"WHAT?!  No way!  _He _started it!"

"Misao," Omasu said the warning clear in her voice as the boy suddenly relinquished his hold on the growling ninja.

"Fine, fine," Misao grumbled.  She crossed her arms and concentrated on an interesting stone a few feet away.  "Sorry."  She stalked away, grumbling. "Come on, Omasu.  I have to go back to the Aoiya to get changed before I bring Aoishi his tea."

"The Aoiya?"

Misao turned to glare at the Chinese brat.  "Yes," she snapped, "the Aoiya.  What's it to you?"

The boy suddenly looked abashed, but the look quickly disappeared.  "I am searching for a Kashiwazaki Nenji-san, who runs a restaurant called the Aoiya.

"Okina?" Omasu asked.

At the same time, Misao demanded, "So who the hell are you?"

"Misao," Omasu gasped.  "Don't be rude."  The brunette approached the boy and bowed.  "I am Tendo Omasu and this is Makimachi Misao.  I do apologize again for her rude behavior."

"Oh, come on, Omasu!  I wasn't being rude.  I was just defending myself.  I could do that, couldn't I?  Huh?  I mean, what if he calls me a froggy or something like that?  I can't just ignore that, can I?  Huh?  Huh?"

Ignoring Misao, the boy returned Omasu's polite bow, "Li Xiao Yan."

Misao glowered at the young Chinese again.  "Why do you want to see Okina?"

Ignoring the braided ninja again, Li turned to Omasu.  "Ayu-san from the Daidoujiya told me I should see him for a . . . very important task of mine."

"Well, anything you need to discuss with him, you could discuss with me.  I am the okashira, after all."  Misao frowned. What business did a foreigner have with Okina?

"You?"  Li's brows lifted in disbelief and his lips pulled back into a sneer.  "Really.  You're just a little girl!  You shouldn't butt into an adult's conversation."

Color slowly suffused the okashira of the oniwabanshu's face.  She trembled.  L-little girl?!

She flew at the arrogant boy.

"KEICHO KICK!"

"Misao, no!  He's a guest!  A guest!"

Really.  Were Japanese people just crazy?

They either wanted to pry into her business, grope her body, or kill her, period.  How did these people live in such a state of passion?  It could not be good for their equilibrium.  Already, she could feel her own self-control falling apart like so much dried mud!

That girl.  What a brat!  Someone needed to take a paddle to her behind!  Oo!  Really.  The women here were nothing like the well-mannered girls at home.  Even the prostitutes were not as aggressive.

And as annoyingly vacuous as they were, she wished to see them again.  She wished she was back in China.  Back in the townhouse, surrounded by the paperwork and martial arts practice that comprised her daily routine.  But she was here.  Kneeling on a soft pad on the floor of a second-storey room in the Aoiya with a cup of hot tea steaming by her knee.  It had been brought in by another lady, with long hair, who'd left, reassuring her that Okina would there soon.

Xiao Yan picked up the green liquid, swirling it thoughtfully.  Really.  How much information would this man be willing to give?  Money would be no problem, but if he didn't want that . . .  She set her mouth.  Really.  He'd just have to take the money, there would be no exceptions.

And if he refused, well, really.  She was of the Celestial kingdom, after all.  She would probably do just as well to search alone.  If only Mother was here.  She knew more than Xiao Yan, herself and she also had connections her daughter had never been aware of until they'd boarded the ship in Shanghai.

They'd left suddenly.  She'd only had time to charge Chang Liu Tseng, their top accountant, with managing their spice and tea business, before packing a few belongings and rushing onto the ship with her mother and half-brother.  Once on the ship, a white man, his face as hairy as a goat's and stinking of some strong perfume, had approached them.  Her mother had greeted the man familiarly.  They'd exchanged words in tones so low, Xiao Yan had had to strain to hear.  The man's English had come with the clipped tones she'd accustomed herself to hearing in dealing with the British, and now she was grateful she'd forced herself to learn the horrid language.

_{__. . . in Kyoto.}_

_{Are you sure?}_

_{If the winds are favorable, you'll have one day before he leaves for Tokyo.}_

_{That's not enough time!}_

_{More than enough if you don't plan on returning.}_

_{. . . Where will he be exactly?}_

_{They say . . . }_

At that point, her mother had noticed her presence and sent her a cool look.  Not questioning the look, Xiao Yan had scampered away quickly.

When she'd asked her mother about the man later, her mother had given her another cold glare and said, "You are only to concern yourself with perfecting the art I have taught you.  When I have use of you, I will tell you."

But she'd disappeared once the ship had reached Nagasaki.  She'd left no instructions or any clue as to what she wanted of Xiao Yan and Haji.  When they'd all left the ship, she'd simply been gone.  Even her belongings.  Xiao Yan didn't want to dwell too much on that particular fact.

She brought the cup of tea to her nose and breathed deeply.  It calmed her greatly.  Settling the sudden flight of her heart.  The steam wisped around her face like a warm caress, carrying with it a rich aroma.  She took a sip, letting the hot and bitter brew flow over her tongue freely.  She tilted her head, considering.

"Well?  How is it?"

She opened her eyes to find an elderly man at the door.  The folds of skin around his eyes crinkled in a welcome smile, much like Liu Tseng's when she'd tallied the day's expenses correctly.  A small pink bow gathered his trim gray beard and would have looked strange on any other man, but he'd managed to make it seem . . . dignified.  His brows rose up into his high forehead, as he awaited an answer.

"Strong impact, initially.  But no solid base, so nothing lingers to be explored.  There is no subtlety because the inherent flavors have not been fully developed.  I'd say steep the tea a bit longer or let the water cool before adding the tea."

"What kind of guest are you anyway?!"  Misao peeked around the elderly man, holding a tray piled with two additional cups and a teapot.  "My tea is perfectly fine!"

"You made this?"  Xiao Yan raised one brow.  "Of course.  It makes sense, then."

"And what does _that_ mean?!"

"Just what it means."

"Why you-"

The old man's sharp glance silenced the young ninja.  She fumed, but said no more.  Both kneeled comfortably on two cushions before her and Misao poured their teas.  Once everyone had settled, the old man began.

"I am Kashiwazaki Nenji and Misao has informed me that you would like an audience with me?"

Xiao Yan nodded.  "I am Li Xiao Yan.  I was under the impression that you, Kashiwazaki-san, would be the most pertinent person to approach for a matter of mine.  Ayu-san from the Daidoujiya suggested I come to you."

"I see," Okina said, "Ayu-san sent you, did she?  And what business do you seek with us, Li-san?"

She flicked her gaze to Misao briefly, but Okina caught the hesitation and spoke before she could open her mouth.  "I'm sorry, Li-san.  Please excuse my poor manners.  In my old age I am getting forgetful."

Xiao Yan sincerely doubted the man forgot much, if anything at all.

"I have not yet introduced the Okashira of the Oniwabanshu, Makimachi Misao."

Xiao Yan managed to bring her tea up to her face before the two could see her expression of disbelief.  Really.  Japanese men were very weak if they could defer so easily to a girl, and she felt slightly insulted that he expected her to do the same.

After a careful sip of her tea, Xiao Yan nodded her head to the kunoichi.  She would accept the Okina's words because he was so old and thus, commanded her respect.  And because she, herself, was 'not a boy' and 'not a girl' so could not be insulted.  She also needed their cooperation and slighting their leader, even if she was a girl, was not a good idea.

Xiao Yan saw Misao's small, white hands relax.  They were dainty despite the calluses along the palm.  By comparison, her own sun-bronzed fingers seemed large and clumsy and she surreptitiously moved her hands under her cup, balancing it in the bowl of her hardened palms.

"I need information.  I am searching for a particular man.  A Japanese man."  She twisted her cup slowly.  Rays of the late noon sun danced across the ripples, reflecting back a rounded face with large brown eyes.  "His name is Shigeta."

"Is that so?" Misao asked.  "But why are you looking for this man exactly?"

Xiao Yan hesitated and Misao bristled, misinterpreting the Chinese woman's pause.

However, Xiao Yan did not notice as she replied.  ". . . He is my younger brother's father."

There was a long silence.  Misao looked at Okina from the corner of her eyes, wondering if he expected her to lead this discussion.  Information was really his specialty.  But Okina remained still.  Impassive face suddenly tensing slightly.  So slight, she did not notice until the light streaming through the open windows lit upon his hardened eyes.

The young Chinese man shifted then set his tea down.  He rested his hands against his laps and stared at them as he spoke, "Of course, I am willing to pay for your services. . . ."

_. . . . and your discretion. . . ._ were his unspoken words.

Misao frowned.  She queried her memory.

_". . . He is my younger brother's father."_

He had not been staring at her when he'd hesitated.  His eyes had been steady yet unfocused.  Was he hiding something?

"Are you hiding something?" Misao asked.

Li's hands twitched.  He eyed her warily.  "I am not hiding anything.  I am only looking for a man."

"But you never answered my question," Misao shot back.

"And you need manners."

"A-HA!  You dodged the question again!  You _are _hiding something."

His lips thinned.  He shifted his attention to the silent older man.  "Surely we can resolve this matter ourselves, sir.  No need to disturb the . . . Okashira."

Misao bit her tongue, preventing another outburst.  She could not quite hold back the glare, however.  She wondered how much would the pleasure of coshing the punk be worth, compared to the possibility of breaking one of Omasu's favorite teapots.  She'd just decided Omasu could always replace the teapot when Okina spoke up.

"Despite her age," Okina said, "Misao would be the most effective in finding your person.  And despite her lack of tact and when she can stop her mouth from running away, she is also very astute, and often, her intuition is very correct.  Something, I know you will need in your search.  A man with no surname?  That is not much to go on, Li-san."

Tugging the wide sleeve of the clean kimono she'd pulled on after the tussle in the street, Misao basked in the warm afterglow of Okina's compliment, ignoring the rest.  Ha!  Let the brat brush her off again!  She was ready and waiting.

And waiting.  And fidgeting as the waiting stretched.  Then straightened quickly.  Then shifted from one knee to another trying to get rid of the thousands of cursed millipedes currently digging their wretched little pincer feet into her legs.

When Li finally spoke, she almost sagged in relief.

"Will you search for him?"

'Depends on what you tell us,' Misao thought snidely.

Okina finally moved.  He surprised Misao by turning to her.  "Misao?"

She blinked.  Oh, yeah.  She was the Okashira, after all.

What was his reason for searching for this man?  Would he tell them?  Would they regret it once they'd accepted?

Li's hands had fisted and his eyes remained downcast as if awaiting a horrible judgment.  His rudeness aside, he seemed really quite harmless.  His delicately rounded cheeks and large brown eyes made him seem so young, but she could see that his body was really that of an adult.  She'd also felt it in their brief combat.  His baggy clothes had hid deceptively strong arms and legs.

And very strong martial skills.  The movements he'd used had been fluid and confusing and turned her own attacks against her numerous times.  She would have said it was a form of judo except that he clearly used a different stance that incorporated a deceiving air of relaxation.  Even without a weapon, Misao knew he could have found some way to kill her.  What was the purpose of such ferocious skills?  No good that was what.

But looking at his narrow shoulders now, she could hardly make herself believe he was more than a very young boy.  Then she noticed the curls of flame-touched dark hair that had fallen into his face, obscuring his eyes.  They vibrated imperceptibly.  He was . . . shaking. . . .

Yes.  A very young boy.  Far from home. . . .

However, safety of her small band of ninjas came first.  Let the boy prove himself.

"Li-san," Misao finally said.  "I need to know more."

Okina made no movement, yet she could feel his approval as he relaxed subtly.

After a long moment, Li slowly unclenched his fists and raised his head.  His large eyes were impossibly dark with all the light streaming through the window.  He opened his mouth as if to speak.  Then snapped it shut and stared at the cup of tea.  In one swift motion, he downed the rest of the tea as if to drown whatever words he may have said into the bitter brew.

Setting down the cup, Li bent forward, touching the floor before him with the tips of his fingers.  "Thank-you for the tea."

And that was that, Misao supposed as she and Okina went through the motions of seeing their guest out.  He could not give them an incentive, what right did he possess to demand their unconditional aid?

But when she came back, Okina had a pensive look on his face.  He tugged thoughtfully on his beard, readjusting the small pink bow.

"Okina?" Misao said.

"Li Xiao Yan," Okina said in return.  "I have heard that name before.  And he is very familiar with teas, is he not?"

"You've heard the name before?  How would you know of a Chinese man, Okina?"

"I wonder . . ."  Okina stroked his chin.  "What do you think, Misao?"

"I think he's a brat."  Misao paused.  "But he's a very young brat, who's scared and far away from home.  And doesn't know what he's doing, but will plow ahead like witless mule anyway.  The fool."

Okina's mouth twitched but he did not allow the smile to fully bloom.  "Yes.  I think you've summed it up nicely." He added dryly, "Name-calling aside.

But why would Ayu-san send her to us?  Why not to the proper authorities?"

"What is Li-san's purpose, you mean?" Misao asked.

"Yes."

"Something wicked, I suppose."

"Possibly."

"Hm.  I wonder if Kuro and Okon are up to testing their investigative skills?"

"Be careful."

"Heh.  'Careful' is my other name!"

So she said.  Right before crashing into a wall.

"_Who put that there?!_"

A/N:  Hey!  It's me again!  I'm very sorry about the lateness of this chapter.  Blame my summer classes or my idiocy in taking them.  Your choice.  But anyways, I'm all done with finals!  Yeah!  But school wasn't the only reason this chapter took so long.  I don't know why, but Misao is one of the _hardest_ characters for me to write about.  For some reason, I just have so much trouble getting into her head.  Maybe 'cause there's nothing there?  Just joking.  I love Misao, I really do.  I guess it's just the fact that she's so vocal and I'm still working on my dialogue skills.  Hmm.  I think she will be a very good challenge.  Heheh.


	4. Chapter 3

TheGenkiGirl: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I'm glad you think Xiao Yan is an interesting character because I really, really do not want her to be a Mary Sue. Like Misao, she's a challenge to myself to develop my character skills. And you can obviously see how I'm lacking in that Misao isn't totally in character. (Sigh.) But I'm not giving up! Hope she doesn't become too annoying to you as the chapters go on.

  


Silver Nightingale: Thanks for saying so. I'll definitely keep an eye on Misao in my fics. Thank you very much for pointing that out. As for my chapters being shorter, well, this chapter I _did_ cut down, but don't expect them to be this short this often. Thanks for the suggestion, but my chapters are usually longer because my scenes are pretty long and I take forever to re-edit my chapters. So I try to add two scenes at once to make "production time" shorter. I still hope the length won't stop most readers, though. (Refer to my rants below for the reason why _this_ chapter is shorter.)

  


Black Aura-Sama: Thanks for your support! Yes, I have that question, too. Why _aren't_ there that many reviews! I should have a hundred by now! Yes, yes, a thousand! Feed my ego! Hahahaha! Kidding aside, I'm just very glad you like my story so much already. Thanks very much!

  


In this Truth We See

by squishybookworm

"Oh, Soujiro-san?"

Soujiro cheerfully plunged the kimono into the water and swirled it.

"Soujiro-san!"

He scrubbed the kimono quickly before plunging it back into the soapy water. The first time he'd done this, he'd been beaten soundly because he hadn't been able to scrub out all the stains. Strange that this would be one of his favorite chores. His smile tightened. And strange that he'd thought of _that_ time again. Today was just a day for memories, it seemed. 

"Soujiro-san, you're gonna make a hole!"

Soujiro blinked. He stared at the blonde cloth in his hand where abused and frayed fibers created a fuzzy spot on the thick material. He hadn't meant to do that.

"Soujiro-san?"

With a faint jolt Soujiro looked up. "Oh. Keiko-chan? I'm sorry. I was thinking very deeply." 

Keiko gave him an impish smile, dodging around a striped yukata, which flapped loudly from its place on a line leading from the second level of the inn and the bathhouse. "What were you thinking about?" She raised one pinky and an eyebrow. "Was it about a girl?" she whispered.

Soujiro laughed. "No. I was just remembering some people I'd met before I came here."

"Before you came here? My mother says you're a wanderer, so you must have met lots of people!"

He nodded. "Yes. They were all very good people." But it was strange how he could barely remember any of them. Like disintegrating strands of a dream, faces were indistinct and voices blurred. Yet, the feelings were memorable. Refined. He could remember a cold winter day and the warmth of a stranger's fire. Or a soothing cup of tea offered with a kind smile after he'd finished repairing a roof. Feelings of such contentment that his smile truly felt sincere.

"My mother says you're a wanderer," Keiko said. "So was that all you did? Just wander around?"

He nodded again.

Crouching, Keiko leaned her elbows on her knees and set her pointed chin between her palms. Her light brown eyes were brightly curious as she asked, "Why?"

"What do you mean?" Soujiro said.

"I mean, why are you just wandering around? Don't you have a house or something?"

A house? He hadn't really thought about it. It just seemed so . . . foreign. With his first family, it hadn't truly been his house and traveling with Shishio, he'd stayed in many places, from western style mansions to broken hovels that barely kept out the elements. But a home? Shaking his head, Soujiro plunged the kimono back into the water. He hoped the owner of this robe wouldn't be too observant. The 'hole' wasn't _really_ a hole. Yet.

"I don't have a home, Keiko-chan."

"Oh, really? That's very sad."

Soujiro chuckled. "Don't feel too sorry for me, Keiko-chan. I'm doing fine so far."

"Oh. Is that why you're wandering?"

"Hm?" Stilling his hands, Soujiro turned to the dark-haired child. "What do you mean?"

"You know. You're looking for a home, right?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Maybe. Maybe that is why I'm wandering." 

"What?!" She leapt up. Glowering, she planted her small fists on her hips. "You mean you don't know?! Soujiro-san! What are you laughing at?! It's not funny!"

Biting his lips to stifle his laughter, Soujiro shook his head. "I'm sorry, Keiko-chan. You're right. It wasn't funny." Seeing the unconvinced look on her face, Soujiro felt it was prudent not to tell her that the sight of her disgruntled and scrunched pixie-like features had been what had set him off. "So, Keiko-chan, was there something you needed from me?"

Young enough not to see such an obvious subject change, Keiko giggled, embarrassed and tapped her temple lightly with one fist. "Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. Soujiro-san, my mother wanted me to ask if you could give Hajime-kun his lunch and medicine. She said he really likes you, so maybe he'll take the medicine if you give it to him." She wrinkled her nose at the mention of medicine. "Ugh! I'm glad _I'm_ not sick!"

"Perhaps I should finish the laundry," Soujiro said slowly. "Hajime-kun will be hungry enough not to notice if he is eating medicine or food."

Keiko frowned. "What do you mean? Are you afraid of him or something?" She shook her head and laughed. "Don't worry, Soujiro-san, Hajime-kun's too little to do anything to you!"

"No. It's not that. I was just . . . worried about the laundry."

"Oh, that's alright. I'm gonna make Satsuki do it!"

"But–"

"No, no, no. Satsuki's gonna do it!" Keiko smiled widely. "You can go ahead, Soujiro-san. I'll see you later."

Soujiro paused. "Alright. Just don't work your brother too hard, okay?" 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, whatever." Waving him off, she turned away and began calling for her brother.

Shaking his head, Soujiro headed towards the kitchen. Those two . . . It was a wonder that Yuusuke and Ayu hadn't already been reduced to frustrated tantrums. 

In the kitchen, he found Ayu putting the finishing touches on a tray of food. She positioned the legs of the stool-like tray atop another similar one – already loaded down with lunch – careful not to disturb the ceramic dishes. 

After she'd finished, she looked up with a welcoming smile. "Ah! There you are Soujiro-san. Just in time."

"I'm happy to oblige such a beautiful woman," Soujiro returned.

Ayu giggled like a young miss, light brown eyes brightening considerably. "Be careful, young man, or I might have you oblige more than just your time."

"With you, Ayu-san, I would be more than happy to do so."

"Oh?" She approached him and reached up to pinch his cheeks. "But, oh my, now that I am so close, I can see that you're only a boy! And such a cute boy at that, Soujiro-kun!"

Flushing slightly, Soujiro dipped his head to allow the shorter woman to pinch his cheeks again. "But, Ayu-san," he protested, "I'm not a little boy anymore."

She dropped her hands and placed them on her hips much the way Keiko had done earlier. "Hmph. To this old woman, boys like you will always be cute little hellions."

"You're not old, Ayu-san. You're a very beautiful woman."

"Hmph. And I suppose if I wasn't already married, you'd snap me up in a moment and woo me off my feet?"

"Of course, Ayu-san!"

The tiny woman reached up to pinch him again. "Cheeky," was all she said as she turned away to retrieve the trays.

"This is for Hajime-kun." Ayu pointed to the top tray. "And the one underneath is yours." She placed a twist of paper onto Haji's tray. "Put this medicine into the hot water and have him drink it after he's eaten everything. Make sure he eats _everything._"

"Ahhh . . ."

"Yes? Did I forget something?"

"Well, I was just thinking that I'm a strange man and everything, so . . . wouldn't Hajime-kun be more comfortable with you, Ayu-san?"

"More likely I'd chase his appetite away with this old, soured face of mine."

"Ayu-san, any male, whether he was ten years old or fifty years old, would be delighted and honored to have one such as you to pour his tea."

Ayu shook her finger. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, Soujiro-san."

Soujiro sighed heavily and easily smiled. "Well, it was worth a try, right?"

"I truly appreciate this, Soujiro-san. But he wouldn't answer earlier when I went to check on him. I heard him move and he might have been asleep, but somehow I sincerely doubted that."

"So . . . Hajime-kun's brother . . . He hasn't returned yet?"

"No. Before he left, he'd made arrangements with me to see after Hajime-kun. I suppose he wasn't aware of Hajime-kun's condition before he'd left."

"Even so," Soujiro said, "You're very kind, Ayu-san, to be so concerned about Hajime-kun's welfare."

"As are you, Soujiro-san." 

"Eh?" 

"Yes, Soujiro-san. You." Ayu reached for his hands. 

Almost flinching in alarm, Soujiro tightened his grip against the trays. He didn't want her to touch his hand. He didn't want anyone to touch his hands. But she hesitated and instead, adjusted a bowl on the tray instead. 

A burning sensation tickled his lungs and Soujiro let go of a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. Unable to hold her gaze, he stared at his hands, hoping she hadn't noticed. 

Her gaze remained steadily trained on Soujiro's bowed head as she said, "You are a very gentle person. I know this because Hajime-kun likes you. You're the first person he's talked to besides his elder brother. Even my children have been unable to get him to speak to them."

"Well, I was the only one there," Soujiro mumbled. He pressed his lips together tightly and shifted uncomfortably. 

But like all mothers, Ayu had exceptional hearing. She shook her head. "You're being too hard on yourself, Soujiro-san."

Soujiro smiled easily. If she knew . . . He wondered if she would still say that if she knew what he'd done. What he could never be forgiven for doing. "I'm glad Hajime-kun enjoys my company so much. It's too bad I can't say the same of his brother."

"I'm sure that is not the case, Soujiro-san." She paused and opened her mouth as if to say something else, but stopped. Then said, "You should take that to Hajime-kun now or the water will be too cold by the time he's finished. Now go." She waved her hands as if that would hurry his departure. "I need to prepare for a dinner party tonight."

"Yes, Ayu-san."

Balancing the trays carefully, Soujiro made his way to the Chinese boys' room. In the clear afternoon sunlight, with the delicate aromas of soup and pickled vegetables wafting up from the trays in his hands, he couldn't help but let his smile relax. The steady thrum of his feet against the floorboards seemed like an extension of his own heartbeat and it was very . . . comforting.

Yet the idyll seemed so fragile. As if he did not breathe carefully, it would shatter like so much glass. Gentle. He could afford to be gentle with this moment because he wasn't truly a part of it. He wasn't glass, he was the cold blade of a sword. He could be gentle because beneath his easy smile, he still hadn't changed. He was still the smiling Tenken. 

Outside Hajime's door, he paused and crouched, placing the trays on the floor. He would be gentle with Hajime, too.

He knocked and announced himself. A slight shuffling and a weak affirmative came through the rice paper. Soujiro opened the door, placed the trays inside the door, and entered. 

Kneeling beside Hajime, who had sat up in his futon, Soujiro smiled easily at him. 

"Are you ready for lunch, Hajime-kun?"

"Um . . . yeah." Nervously fingering the neckline of his sleeping yukata, which Ayu had found for him, Haji peeked up at Soujiro through the fringe of his long messy hair as the swordsman placed one tray across his lap and rearranged the bowls. 

"Um, S-Soujiro-san . . ."

"Yes?"

"Thank you . . . th-thanks for bringing this to me and-and for . . . before, too." Haji stared at his pale hands, so unlike his elder brother's darker hands. Yet so alike with calluses lining the ridges of the palm and a few, faint scars along the back of the knuckles. 

"Don't worry, Hajime-kun. You are very sick, now, and you're a guest."

"Oh. . . . Is that . . . um, is that why . . ."

"Yes?"

"Um, nothing. Nevermind."

Soujiro stopped arranging the various bowls on Haji's tray and looked up at the boy. Flame-tinted dark hair obscured his face as he stared at a spot on the blanket that covered his lap.

"Hajime-kun?"

". . . "

But Haji kept his silence. Slowly, Soujiro felt his smile grow wider. Gentle. He could only be gentle. That was all he could do for Haji. He couldn't get involved. Didn't deserve to be involved.

The brown-eyed youth snatched up his soup bowl. But his trembling hands lost purchase on the smooth porcelain and the clear soup sloshed over the sides, creating trails of salty brine along his hands then splashing darkly against the polished wooden tray.

"Hajime-kun!" Soujiro grabbed the bowl from Haji's unresisting fingers and set it aside. Then began blotting the young boy's hands with the sleeve of his kimono. "Are you alright, Hajime-kun? Hajime-kun?"

"I . . ." Haji's lips quivered and soft brown eyes became suspiciously bright as he blinked rapidly. "I am strong . . ." he whispered. "I . . . I have to be strong. I can't . . . I have to be strong. . . ."

_If you're strong, you live. If you're weak, you die._

"No."

Flame-tinted strands flew like damp threads as Haji whipped his head up to stare incredulously at the blue-eyed swordsman. "Um . . . what?"

What? 

He hadn't meant to say that. But the memory . . . It was as if Shishio had been standing behind him, whispering into his ear. The tingle of shock had traveled the length of his spine and up to his mouth and burst forth in the form of that simple word. 

Yet, it was the most perfect word he'd ever said.

"No. Don't just bear it, Hajime-kun." His smile was slipping. He could feel the strange relaxation in his facial muscles and a tightening in his chest. As if the tension had become too heavy and had been dragged down. But it still felt so right. So good. Like a real smile. "Cry and complain and yell and scream and tell me it's all my fault, but don't tell me you have to be strong."

"I have to be strong. Xiao Yan-niisan is strong. He always tells me if I don't stop crying, I'll never get stronger."

"Haji-kun." In Soujiro's eye, the scene of a rainy night played itself out. Bloody and broken bodies laid about and the rain continued to pound the hard ground. And in the middle of the tragedy stood a little boy with tears running down his face. "Crying does not make you weak."

"It makes him go away," Haji whispered harshly. His pale hands twitched as if he wanted to fist them, but lacked the strength. "It always makes him go away. . . ."

Li Xiao Yan . . .

"You're still a child. You can't be strong for me. _I _should be strong for you. Do you understand, Haji? I . . . I shouldn't make you ask for my presence. . . . I should know." 

But Haji lowered his brown eyes. Hiding his tears. Hiding his pain. The confusion of a child. So easy to ignore.

Something warm covered his fingers. Soujiro jerked in surprise, almost pulling his hands out of the boy's grasp, but a surprisingly strong grip kept hold. He stared at their linked hands with wide blue eyes. Pale skin against pale skin like winter flowers in snow. 

But Haji's hand was warm.

Something he did not deserve. Could never let a child such as this see. He was the Tenken. The boy of the merciless smile. Gentle. That was all he could be. All he could do for the young, brown-eyed boy before him. 

Breath catching in his throat, Soujiro prepared to wrench his hands away, but Haji's voice stopped him.

"Your hands, Soujiro-niichan . . . they're just like mine. . . ." To prove his point, Haji flipped Soujiro's left hand to briefly trace a scar there. Then placed his own smaller hand against Soujiro's.

With hushed awe, Soujiro slowly brought his hand up and Haji followed his movement, base of his palm cupped in the older man's large hands and his shorter digits splayed against Soujiro's slim fingers. 

"Haji-kun?"

"Yes?"

"Aren't you . . . afraid?"

". . . No."

"This hand you're touching . . . it has felt the flow of people's blood. . . . Did you know that?"

". . . Yes."

Soujiro jerked away. He pulled his hand back as if the boy had strapped a burning coal to his palm. But all he could feel was the lingering warmth of Haji's scarred palm.

"Oniisan . . ." Haji paused then began again. "Xiao Yan-niisan . . . he always told me: 'the hands of a martial artist shall always be stained with blood, with the misfortune of those weaker than they.' Your hands . . . they're like Xiao Yan-niisan's . . . and like mine. That's why I know . . . you . . . ."

"But Haji-kun, you're not a martial artist . . . Your hands are not like mine! Never like mine! You're just a child!"

"My mother."

"What?"

"I killed my mother. . . ."

A curious sense of betrayal swept across him and Soujiro wished his limbs didn't feel so heavy. That he could swing his arm. His left arm. And slap Haji. Slap him for saying such utter ridiculous nonsense.

He killed his mother! This child who could barely have lived a decade and he'd claimed he'd killed his mother?!

'Like the Tenken,' a voice whispered in his ear. A voice that sounded so much like Shishio's.

'Will you allow your past to blind you to this child's need?' another voice interjected. Soujiro almost whipped around, expecting to see Himura standing there in the portal of the door. 

But he felt so heavy, like the tightness in his chest had become heavier and fell to his stomach, pulling his heart and lungs along with it. The air felt heavy, as if the day was summer and not early spring, and his smile felt stretched, like someone was pinching his cheeks all over again. 

He wanted to laugh. Yes, he wanted to laugh. Laugh and never stop.

'Will you abandon him and allow him to follow a path, which will surely lead to the fate you'd abhorred so much?' Himura's calm voice continued relentlessly.

No.

'It's better not to get involved,' Shishio's voice whispered. 'Just walk away. Walk away and let the child's will determine his fate. Whether he lives or dies is in the strength of his will to live.'

_No!_

"Haji-kun!"

"Huh?!" Haji jumped at the desperate note in Soujiro's voice.

"You are a liar or I am missing something here. How could you have possibly killed your mother when your eyes are still clearly those of a child? How would you know of the blood and the anguish of seeing another life extinguished?"

Haji stared at him with blank incomprehension.

"Haji-kun, how exactly did you kill your mother?" 

A/N: How is everyone? I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. For some reason, this scene just would not work with me, so the second scene of this chapter went without re-reading. That is why, I'm splitting this chapter into two parts so that I can work on the next chapter of my other story and get that out. Thank you so much for your patience and for those of you still in school, I wish you a very successful semester.

Thanks for reading and please review!


	5. Chapter 4

 SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1            

Brittany67: Thanks!  Hope I do, too!  (Smiles.)

CurlsofSerenity: Thanks for the hint!  I would have never known.  I will definitely use that spelling in the future and maybe someday I will go back and find them in the first few chapters and change them.  Someday . . . maybe . . . . Heheh.  

Silver Nightingale: Was it smooth?  Thanks for saying so, because I was really worried about how it turned out.  But then, I always think of new ideas I could have added or how I could have rewritten some sections much better, _after_ I've already posted.  By then I'm too lazy to go re-edit and repost.  Hahaha.  

Rita: Thanks!

Black Aura-Sama: Angst?  My story is angsty?  Heheh.  Sorry, but I personally don't like angst all that much and it's just so ironic that I write so much of it!  

Aishuu: Thank you.  Your comment really helps because it means that I am going in the right direction as far as character development goes.  Thank you very much.

I've drawn of a picture of Li Xiao Yan!  It's up at mediaminer.org under the _creative name, "Li Xiao Yan" in the Rurouni Kenshin section.  She's not wearing her outer tunic, so she doesn't look too androgynous.  Not up to par with Watsuki-sensei's, but I think it gives you a good idea of what she looks like.  Although . . . now that I've looked at her again, I notice she looks a lot like . . . Soujiro. . . .  Er, how'd that happen?  _

When I have time, I'll draw Haji, too.

**In this Truth We See******

By squishybookworm

Twilight settled upon the street like a cool slip of silk.  Long velvet shadows slid along the buildings and in between alleys and crevices where the sun's last rays could not touch.  A chill breeze puffed through the wide street, bringing along a child's high giggle, which echoed like a tinkling bell along the wooden walls of the establishments about.  It floated over the bowed head of a figure leaning against one of the buildings and gently soaked into the midnight locks that shadowed his eyes.  Crimson light limned the right side of his figure, bringing a pseudo-blush to his pale cheek and rendering his form in stark shades of scarlet and darkness.  

            A light schf, schf, came down the street and his head shifted slightly towards the left; towards the sound.  As the soft footsteps came closer, he slowly unfolded his crossed arms and pushed away from the building to face the person.  The slight scuffing stopped.

            A smile tilting the corners of his lips, he lifted his head.  His view was quickly filled with small feet encased in soft, black cloth slippers.  His eyes traveled up those dust-covered shoes; past bulky ankle wrappings and loose trousers; past the hem of a ridiculously large and loose tunic; up past the mandarin collar to finally meet a pair of wary brown eyes.

            Soujiro's smile widened and the boy before him tensed, distributing his weight evenly on both legs.  The navy-eyed man wondered if the boy was even aware of his movements.

            "Shen-shen," the Chinese youth spoke at length.

            Soujiro quirked one dark brow questioningly.  Shen-shen?  A very Chinese word.  

            "Shen-shen?" Soujiro said.  "I'm sorry.  I think you have me confused with someone else.  My name is Seta Souijiro."

            "You are the person who walked into me this morning."

            Soujiro's smile remained unchanged.  Actually, it was the other way around, but somehow he didn't think the boy would readily admit that.

            "And you're Haji's brother."

            The Chinese youth's eyes flashed and he lifted his chin.  "I am Xiao Yan.  Li Xiao Yan.  I am not 'Haji's brother'."  He glared a moment longer before demanding, "What business do you have with me, Shen-shen-san?"

            Feeling one brow twitch slightly at the boy's rude dismissal of his name, Soujiro found perverse delight in the fact that the sun behind his head threw his face into shadow while he could clearly see all expression playing across this Xiao Yan's face.  

They flitted quickly – going from disinterest to annoyance to hostility – all in a matter of moments, and they were so unlike the tangled skeins of emotions everyone else gave off.  It was as if the boy felt every emotion so intensely, there was no room for any others.  It was enough that Soujiro could stand to lower his guard slightly without feeling as if he was being bombarded on all sides by a dizzying mixture of sentiments.

 Soujiro met the boy's brown gaze squarely, unflinching even in the antagonism he could feel flowing off like so much heat from a boiling pot.   

"Well?" Li barked.  "What do you want?"

Soujiro blinked and smiled widely.  "How was your day, Li-san?"

Li blinked.  "My . . . day. . . ?"

"Yes.  You were gone all day, so I imagine you must have went somewhere very far and if you went somewhere far away then you must have done a lot of walking.  Are you tired?"

"I-I'm fine . . . well, really."  He blinked rapidly, then huffed.  "I fail to see why you need concern yourself."  He straightened slightly and brushed back the longer strands of hair that curled around his ears again as soon as he'd finished.  "Is there something you wanted?"

Soujiro stared at him silently for a few moments.  His smile widened slightly.  "Li-san, I spent some time with your brother today."  

Li gave no outward reaction, although his ki visibly darkened.  The rapidly disappearing sun darkened his tanned skin to a golden hue, making him seem like a statue just then.  It reminded Soujiro of gilded Buddha statues.  Looking warm and alive in soft candlelight, yet when one went to touch it, it was cold.

Soujiro continued, "He is a very unique child.  Very polite and thoughtful." 

"Of course, he is well-raised.  He had a Chinese upbringing after all." 

Soujiro suppressed the urge to smile even wider.  His brow was twitching again. 

"Shen-shen-san, is that all you wanted to tell me?  I really don't think it was necessary to have gone to the trouble."  Li's mouth twisted in an almost sneer, belying his last statement.  He brushed past Soujiro and continued on to the open door of the inn.  "Have a good night."

Hmm.  It wasn't quite going as he would have liked.  Well, he wasn't sure how he wanted it to go in the first place, but he was sure he didn't want it to end with Li smirking at him. 

"Nonetheless, Li-san, for all his seeming maturity, he is still a child and a child should not, and should never, be allowed to believe he is the cause of any misery.  You have been most unfair to him."

Li stopped.  His ki flashed frigid as if the sky had suddenly released sleet, then it disappeared completely.  Soujiro's back muscles tensed instinctively before he forced himself to relax.

"Oh?"

A slight puff of warm breath was Soujiro's only clue that Li had turned back to stare at him.  Soujiro schooled his expression into a wide smile, although Li could not see it.

"Yes.  That's right.  You should be more considerate," Soujiro said.

Li's long shadow shifted as he turned fully towards him.  It flowed, unbroken, to stop at the shoulder of his own shadow.  From this angle it almost looked like they were standing side by side and if he had twitched his arm slightly, they would have melded seamlessly.

"You are being presumptuous, don't you think, Shen-shen-san?" Li finally replied.

"Seta Soujiro."

"What?"

Smile widening to the point where his eyes were almost squinted shut, Soujiro turned around slowly.  "My name is Seta Soujiro."

Li said nothing for a long while.  Dark curls fluttered around his face, throwing dark laces of shadows upon his delicately rounded cheeks.  His dark eyes glinted from underneath the shadow of his hair and Soujiro knew that he was being taken apart and analyzed bit by bit.  

The youth lifted his chin, clearing the shadows from his eyes.  His brows were lifted defiantly.  Soujiro's smile tightened slightly and his brow twitched again.  

For a split second, so fast that if Soujiro had not felt the youth's ki flash as well he would have missed it, something . . . _changed in Li's glare.  Something . . . almost panicked and reflected in the small flare of ki.  Li lifted his chin.  _

"And I am Li Xiao Yan, Shen-shen-san."  He continued tightly.  "Are you quite finished, Shen-shen-san?" 

That feeling.  Something had caused the youth's impassive façade to falter.  

"Good night, Shen-shen-san."  Li turned away and started through the open door.

"Li-san."  His hand clapped down gently on the narrow shoulder.  Heat frissoned through the rough cloth to Soujiro's palm.  

Li sucked in a sharp breath, even as he leapt away and his ki gave off another distinctive flare of panic.  It wasn't quite the same as before, but now Soujiro was sure what unsettled the youth so much and he couldn't help but feel extremely pleased about it.  His smile relaxed slightly.

He raised his hands concilatorily and said, "Please.  I didn't mean to startle you."

Li snorted, widening his stance and slowly inching his arms towards defensive positions.  His shuttered face betrayed nothing of the brief flare of panicked ki he'd given off but moments before.  

His smile congenial, Soujiro remained relaxed.  They remained that way for several moments.   

"He is strong," Soujiro said finally.  "But he is not that strong yet.  He is still a child and he cannot go on as he is." 

The Chinese youth turned his head slightly, the sun limning one delicately rounded cheek and reflecting in the dark stare he sent out of the corner of his eye.  "Oh?  Do you realize what you are doing?  Sharing your thoughts so brazenly constitutes a measure of responsibility on your part.  Will you take responsibility, Shen-shen-san?

If Haji dies, he dies.  If he lives, he can only become stronger."  Li paused, finally straightening from his stance as the Tenken remained still.  Shadows shifted on his face and the disappearing sun traced one last, scarlet line along the Chinese youth's cheek.  "Shen-shen-san, you, too, are a martial artist, are you not?  Surely this is something you understand?"

If you're strong, you live.  If you're weak, you die.

"Are you strong, Li-san?"

"What?"  

"I asked if you were strong, Li-san."

". . . Strong enough—" he caught his breath softly.  He clamped his mouth shut tightly and stared back at Soujiro with a clear brown gaze that was inscrutable once again.

Soujiro paused.  Strong enough . . . for what?  

He opened his mouth to prod the silent youth further, but before he could do so, Li swept his arm out, throwing some object.  Soujiro instinctively caught the object before it could connect with his chest.  He brought it up to his face to inspect in the rapidly disappearing light.

"A banana?" he said increduously.  "Did you just throw a banan—"  His smile tightened as the flutter of Li's tunic disappeared through the darkness of the inn doorway.  

He caught the mandarin collar of the youth's shirt just before the curtained doorway in the receiving room.  Luckily, Ayu must have still been too busy with the dinner party to come up front and close the shop.  She might have found the sight of Soujiro jerking the Chinese youth back by the scruff of his neck very shocking.

Li fell back into Soujiro's chest with barely a whimper, only another brief flare of ki informed Soujiro that the youth had been startled.  Immediately, the scent of tea wafted up to his nose and he instinctively breathed in the familiar aroma.

            "You will let me go," Li said.  His voice remained even and modulated.  As if he hadn't just thrown a banana at the Tenken.

            Carefully hiding his surprise, Soujiro slowly uncurled his fingers from Li's upper arms when he'd steadied the youth.  Li took a few steps forward, but made no attempts to run.  Not that he would have gotten far anyways.  

            They stood like that.  

Faint sounds of reverie broke through curtained doorway but they seemed weak and overly happy.  Bars of light spilled across the floor in the hallway, but nothing went past the shadowed border of the door.  Papers crinkled as a slight wind made its way through the door and traveled around the room.  The sharp smell of ink eclipsed the aromatic cloud of tea that surrounded Li's form.

"I will not let Haji believe it is a flaw of his own making," Soujiro said, "He has done nothing wrong." 

"Really?"  Li did not turn, but his head shifted, and Soujiro knew the youth had lifted his chin again.  "And what would you understand of his faults or lack of them?  We've only just met; not enough time to truly comprehend the situation.  I think you are being far too forward." 

"You said I was a martial artist.  Surely you'd understand that we can not take time to fully perceive the situation.  We can have only a moment before attacking.  No time to decide how our next move will best defend ourselves from our opponent.  Therefore we must accept all we can sense and come to a conclusion in that moment . . . and we must be right.  I comprehend enough, Li-san." 

Li turned around slowly, his lips pressed together into a thin line.  "Really?  Then tell me, Shen-shen-san, what is the conclusion you have reached?  How shall you proceed next?  This martial artist senses something else, something darker behind that easy smile of yours.  Something about this matter resonates within your being and draws you closer like a moth is drawn to flame.  Do not generate your own emotions onto Haji.  Do not taint him further with your presence." 

Shadow swept across their still forms as the last blush disappeared from the front door.  The room was silent.  Absolutely still. 

"This martial artist," Soujiro began as he approached the Chinese youth.  Li bent his knees warily, ready to spring, but did not move even when Soujiro stood close enough to feel the faint warmth of expelled breath and catch the soft scent of tea, again. 

He reached out with both arms and suppressed the widening of his smile, the giddy headiness of triumph as Li tensed.  The Chinese youth forced himself to stay absolutely still and not recoil.  Clapping both hands lightly onto Li's shoulder, a flash of heat communicated itself between their contact and Soujiro's smile finally widened as Li's ki flared again.

"Senses something inside you." Soujiro continued.  "Something that draws you to him like a moth is drawn to flame." 

"Don't be ridiculous!"  But Li didn't move.  His dark gaze remained trained on Soujiro's own wide blue eyes.

Soujiro's smirk dropped suddenly.  His grip tightened painfully and Li compressed his lips, but made no other move.  

They stared at each other steadily, neither moving and barely daring to even shift slightly.

"Perhaps it is you, Li-san, who does not fully comprehend the situation."  Soujiro bit out.  He suddenly released him and stepped back.  His palms felt like they'd been burned by the little coal low in his stomach and tingles flowed up his arm to set his heart racing as if he was readying for battle.  He took a deep breath, fighting back the impulse to clench and unclench his fists.  To send that fist into the Chinese youth's impassive face.  

Another easy smile stretched across his face as Li stared back at him expressionlessly, his reaction just as carefully hidden.  

            Soujiro stepped past the silent Chinese youth and went on into the inn. He didn't know what he'd been hoping to accomplish, but somehow he felt so tired.  As if he'd used all his energy to sustain his focus.  Even now, everything just seemed to be roiling chaotically making him feel like the one time he'd been stuck on a ship in the middle of a storm.  And he could feel a headache coming on.

            Nausea churned his stomach and he wanted to stamp down this swirl of anxiety, but he couldn't.  He couldn't because he knew . . . he knew that he'd _enjoyed_ taunting the Chinese youth.  And that thought was enough to bring his smile back full force.

A/N:  I'm going to sleep now.  Good night everyone.  Ugh.

Criticisms are much appreciated so that I may improve, but just saying "Hi!" is welcome, too.  Thanks!  


	6. Chapter 5

**In This Truth We See**

Chapter 5

By squishybookworm

"Jiya," Misao said.

"Yes?" Jiya replied.

"What are you doing?"

"Aaah, just enjoying the scenery." He sighed. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Yes." Misao suppressed an urge to scream. Instead she said through gritted teeth, "So then why don't you _go_ _outside_ and _enjoy_ it _there_."

"Huh?" Okina turned from leering at a pair of young ladies sitting at a table in the front of the Aoiya. "Outside? Why would I want to go outside?"

"Jiya!" Misao waved a tray at him, fury in her eyes and punishment ready in her fist and . . . tray. "Are you trying to scare away all our customers, you ancient lecher! No one's gonna be able to eat when they see your antique face drooling at them!"

Several customers stared at them and edged away nervously when Misao began brandishing her tray. However, they were regulars and were well aware of Misao's accuracy. It was just that, she was more _accurate_ when the target wasn't _moving._

"Oh, Misao!" Jiya placed one hand over his heart as if an invisible arrow had just struck him. "I'm touched that you're so jealous." He grinned lasciviously, "But don't worry, I won't ever forget my Misaaaooo-chaaan."

He leapt back nimbly from the flying tray and adopted a disapproving frown as it crashed into the back of Shiro's head. He tsked at the horrified Misao before beating a hasty retreat.

The two girls at the front of the shop peered over at the commotion. They had heard many rumors about this place. That it was run by an eccentric bunch. That it was known for it's intolerance for disrespect and had the martial skill to back it up. That it had a peeping tom.

But they had come to this restaurant for dinner because they had heard about the delicious variety of native cuisine. That their waiter was a relatively young and charming man had been an added plus. Now, they watched in stunned disbelief as he was clobbered over the head by the tray that the small braided waitress had launched at him. Then both sighed in disappointment at the thought that this waitress was probably his sweetheart, until they realized that she had just whacked her beloved.

They peered about, suddenly nervous. The eccentric and martial skills part had proven to be true. Now what about the peeping tom part?

"Ow!" Shiro whipped around, his spotless waiter's apron flaring slightly with his movement. His dark eyes lit upon the braided ninja and he complained, "What was that for, Misao? I didn't do anything!"

Misao gasped. "I'm sorry, Shiro. I didn't meant to do that, honest! I was aiming for Jiya's face!"

"The back of my head can't curdle water, Misao," Shiro grumped. He rubbed his head. "It's bad enough that we're short on help today that we can't afford to have a concussed waiter serving the customers!"

"I really am sorry." Misao had an appropriately contrite look upon her face, which was enough to make Shiro sigh and glare at her half-heartedly before walking past her to greet a trio of customers just coming through the door.

"Whatever. Just go and make sure the old man isn't harassing any of the young girls."

She nodded, appropriately chastened. "I will, and I'm sorry."

He merely waved back to her and hurried to the new arrivals.

Misao turned to the stairs in the back of the room that led up to their living quarters. She frowned with grim determination and marched up, her feet thumping the solid wood planks as if they would convey her irritation to the old man above.

Once she reached the second floor, she hurried to the waiting room where Li had been shown earlier.

"Jiya!" She shoved the shoji back with a resounding thwack! "Stop ogling the poor girls and receive your punishment!"

"Misao," Jiya said from his position at the window, "I'm surprised you haven't asked me anything concerning Li-san, yet."

"I—huh?" The sudden seriousness in Jiya's voice brought her up short. "Li-san?" she said.

"Yes. Usually you're brimming with questions if you think I know something."

"Oh. Yes, well . . ." Truthfully, Misao had thought about it. But Jiya had seemed too preoccupied and the constant stream of customers and only three people managing the Aoiya had not helped.

Misao knelt down before Jiya and squared her shoulders. "Well, Okina, if you are willing to tell me, what do you know about Li-san?"

"Hmm." He stared out of the window, his eyes pensive. Then turned back with a decisive nod. He knelt down before Misao, his face erased of all the silliness that he'd displayed downstairs.

"Did you know that your grandfather had stationed me and one other member here in Kyoto before the Bakamatsu occurred? Of course all of our members were dispersed throughout most of Japan back then by the order of the emperor." Jiya's gaze found a spot somewhere above Misao's left shoulder as he continued. His voice was sad, yet wistful. "We were to aid the Shinsengumi as well as gather intelligence on the Choshu-han."

The Choshu-han had been the organization that had established the Kihetai and the Ishin Shishi during the Bakamatsu and had been essential in overthrowing the Tokugawa regime to establish this new Meiji Era. Misao wondered what connection this history, more than fifteen years old, had with Li-san.

"My partner was a young. He was good, but still, so young and inexperienced and believing that he could conquer the world through sheer determination."

Jiya sighed and Misao sat up straighter. Jiya was not one to share his past unless there was something important.

"And when you're young," he continued, "you can't help but think that love will get you through anything, whether it is hunger or the ambitions of corrupt politicians."

He paused. Misao waited gravely even as she tried not to think about a certain icy-eyed young man, for whom she had braved hunger and corrupt bandits if not politicians.

"His name was Takao. He was a peasant's son before he joined the Oniwanbanshu, but he had an ability to blend with any environment he was in. A lord's private party or a kimono shop. He was the servant or the brother buying his sister a gift. He deserved the title of Oniwanbanshu."

"Jiya," Misao said, "what happened to him? I've never heard of him."

"I don't think you would. After all you were only five years old when he died."

"Was he related to Shigeta somehow? Was he a brother perhaps?"

"No," Jiya shook his head. "No. But Takao and I were living at the Satoya, an "inn" that many of the Shinshengumi frequented when they wanted to find . . . comfort in a woman's arms. There was a young woman working there, and he fell in love with her. Her name was O-ren. She'd served me tea once and we'd had a stimulating discussion about tea. I was surprised. She was very intelligent and witty. She could have been a respected geisha. And perhaps it was my own fault for not watching her more closely. Or perhaps it was his love that allowed Takao to stumble across her secret."

His eyes closed as he relived memories that he had carried alone for the past fifteen years. "When I found him in her room, he looked like he was sleeping. But his skin was so cold and so pale and I'd seen enough death to recognize it when it came. He had been fed sakura-mochi liberally laced with opium. The sweets were on a plate next to his hand. But he said something to me. Something that had made no sense. He said, 'Li.'"

Jiya's eyes opened and his gaze sharpened as he stared into Misao's eyes. "O-ren disappeared. But I later learned that a daimyo's household had become inexplicably addicted to opium and his daughter had died from an overdose. This daimyo's name: Takashi Shigeta."

Misao said nothing and stared mutely at him. But her mind whirled with the possibilities and the consequences of a fifteen year old memory.

"I do not know if there is a connection," Jiya finished. "But there are just too many coincidences."

He huddled under the blanket. His body felt hot and flushed although he shuddered with each new chill that would not stop sweeping over his small frame. His mind wavered on the edge of sleep but would not let him be. Every small sound, every swish of newly formed leaves, the raucous laughter of the dinner party swirled into his ears and would not let his mind rest. The soft material of the blanket scratched against his cheek uncomfortably as if it was made of rough cotton. Yet he was loathe to give up the warmth it afforded.

Haji shifted, sitting up slightly as a light footfall sounded just outside his door. The moon lit up the squares of the shoji, casting white shapes on the floor like a woven blanket of light and shadows. Then the shoji opened with a soft scrape and a figure stood there, features gilded with the lamp she held in one hand.

"Oniisan!" Haji attempted to stand, but fell back when a wave of dizziness rushed over him. He closed his eyes to stop the ceiling from spinning crazily and heard another scrape as the shoji was closed. The light footsteps approached his futon then swept past.

"Do not get up." Her voice floated back from the back of the room, even and modulated and showing no emotion like a cultured man.

Haji frowned slightly. She was . . . angry. But she wasn't exactly angry. More like what he felt when Liu Tseng refused to reveal anything to him and would keep trying to convince him that he'd understand once he'd grown up. It was annoying. Ignoring Xiao Yan's command, Haji opened his eyes again and sat up slowly, pulling the blankets along with him to stave off the chill breeze that had come through the door with her.

"Oniisan," he said.

She turned from turning down her futon, disapproval clear in her brown eyes though her expression never changed. "Go to sleep, Hajime. We will get up early tomorrow."

He nodded. But before he could lay back down, a tiny frown creased her brow. "Are you feverish, Hajime?"

"Huh? O-oh . . . um . . . well, I was . . . that is . . . um . . ."

"Don't stutter, Hajime. It is unbecoming."

"Yes, Oniisan," he said as she walked over. He clutched the blanket tighter, suppressing another shiver. "The doctor said I have a mild flu. He said it'll go away in three or four days."

She crouched by his side then reached out to touch his forehead with the back of her hand. The chill seeped away slightly with the unexpected warmth of her fingers and he leaned into them.

"Doctor?" she asked. She lifted her hand away, causing Hajime to hold back a mewl of disappointment.

"Yes."

"Did Ayu-san summon him?" She laid her palm flat against his forehead.

"Yes." He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth radiating from her hand.

"What did he say?"

"Soujiro told me he said I had to stay in bed and take the medicine three times a day."

"I see." She seemed to finally notice the washbasin and cloth next to his futon and she dropped her hand to finger the white cloth thoughtfully. "Did Soujiro-san tend to you?"

"Yes."

"I see." For a moment something flickered in her tea brown eyes, but it was too quick to allow him to imagine what it might have been. "Where is the medicine?"

"Um . . . um, Ayu-san h-has it . . . I think . . . ."

"Hmm," she hummed. "I am sure you have thanked her properly." At his sheepish expression, her lips thinned slightly and her next words came out clipped, "I shall thank her tomorrow on your behalf. Now sleep."

Haji nodded and lied down, working the twisted blanket around to tuck around himself as warmly as possible. Despite his efforts and the thickness of the material, he still shuddered as if the chill breeze had found its way under the covers and he'd unintentionally enfolded it in with him.

He shuffled about a while longer before hearing a huff above him. He stopped and looked up slowly. Xiao Yan stood above him, arms crossed and face expressionless. She held the wrapped sword and a bundle of clothing under one arm. "Shall I listen to you rustling about all night?"

"Um . . ."

"Really. I shall practice before taking a bath. Be asleep when I return." She left before he had a chance to answer.

He closed his eyes and tried desperately to sleep. But the rustling of the wind in the tree seemed unnaturally loud. His own heartbeat seemed unnaturally loud. It beat a rapid rhythm that everyone could undoubtedly hear. Haji shifted again.

Finally, huffing slightly, unconsciously echoing Xiao Yan, he sat up with the blankets wrapped firmly around his small frame and crawled to the door in slow, shuffling movements. Immensely grateful for the relatively small distance it took to reach the door, he leaned against it for a long moment, feeling as if the his head would fly away at any time. Then sliding the shoji open, he peered out at the moon-washed veranda. Feeling that he had enough strength, Haji slowly stood up, supporting his weight against the door.

Once that had been accomplished, he wrapped the blanket more firmly about his slender shoulders and hesitantly made his way down the palely lit walkway. Another shudder swept up his spine and he leaned against the wall. Perhaps he should go back. . . . Oniisan would be really angry if . . . when . . .

He turned to go back, yet shadows that had not been there before seemed to suddenly swell and swallow the path he'd just trod. Gulping audibly, Haji clutched his blanket tighter and slowly backed away. He turned and hurried down the suddenly sinister walkway. He ignored the slight throbbing that began just behind his eyes and shifted the loose folds of the blanket closer, trying to stave off the chill breezes that kept wafting up.

Hearing a soft whistle as of the wind blowing through a flute, he slowed to lean against the wall. For a moment everything spun crazily and the bright pinpoints of moonlight shining through the dark branches seemed to swell like soapsuds. Haji tasted the bitter medicinal tea he'd drank earlier along with the sour burning of bile in the back of his throat.

Fighting off the wave of nausea, he finally sank down, trembling with fatigue and clutching the blanket tightly. Through the thick folds he'd gathered against his neck, he could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as if he'd just finished a strenuous practice. Even the chilly air burned his throat and lungs as if they'd been overheated and he coughed slightly to rid himself of the ache deep in the back of his throat.

However, once his world stopped spinning, Haji was suddenly too aware of the dark and menacing shapes surrounding him. A sudden thump made him flinch. He pressed up against the hard wooden wall and stifled his whimper of fear.

_[Don't cry, Haji! Don't cry. If you do, she will hear you. Stop crying. Stop!]_

He squeezed his eyes tightly. If he couldn't see. . . . If he couldn't hear. . . . A sharp, dry skittering sounded to his right and he gasped before he could muffle his mouth.

_[Just listen.]_

No! It was a monster! It was coming! It was coming for _him!_

_[I should not be here.]_

The monster was there! It's eyes crimson with bloodlust and its mouth open wide to display gleaming white teeth that dripped with acid saliva. Haji scooted away weakly, his fever-ravaged body protesting his every movement even as it urged him to run. To run and hide.

_[Do not cry, Haji.]_

It was coming! His eyes still squeezed shut, Haji pushed himself away as whimpers began on his lips. It was coming. It was coming . . . and he could do nothing. He couldn't run.

_[Coward.]_

Behind his lids, he could see the monster reaching out with one clawed hand. Hovering above his blanket. Waiting to tear away his last measly defense and swallow him whole.

_[Do not blubber. It is disgusting.]_

The piercing cry ripped from his lips and he couldn't stop it for all the world. He quickly stifled it in a fold of the blanket then curled in on himself, too weak to move and too afraid to open his eyes to banish the imaginary demon behind his lids.

_[Stop sniveling. Are you a weak little boy? I do not have time for a weak little boy.]_

No! He mustn't cry! If he did, she would leave. If he cried, she would go. If he was weak, he would be alone. He mustn't cry.

_[If you cry, I'll leave you, Haji. I'll leave you.]_

He mustn't cry.

_[You will die if you remain so weak.]_

He had to move.

_[Just listen to my heart.]_

Slowly, hesitantly, he uncurled himself. He had to get away from the monster. It was screaming and howling indecipherable shrieks that caused spittle to fly from its mouth like a rabid dog's foaming sickness. He had to get away.

_[See? It is like the rain upon the earth . . .]_

It followed him. Its smile was malicious because it knew it could reach out at any time and impale the frantic little boy on its long, vicious claws. It oozed malice. It reeked of cruelty. It was coming for him.

Haji's breath hitched and he blindly thrust his arms from the suddenly confining cover to drag himself away. And his eyes were still squeezed so tightly.

_[. . . the pulse of a thousand eons . . .]_

Scooting along the wall and trying to make himself as small as a mouse, Haji clamped his lips tightly against the cries bubbling up his throat. But still . . . still the monster followed him. All night and shadows and fear.

_[. . . the knowledge of existence . . .]_

Then his hand hit nothing but open air and Haji almost sobbed outright because he was trapped against an impossible precipice and he would either fall or the monster would eat him. The monster had pushed him against a jagged outcropping of a cliff and now he would die. He would die because he was too weak to do anything but crawl away.

Gradually, however, a niggling thought filtered through his feverish mind and he quickly realized that he'd reached the corner of the veranda. Yet that thought could not comfort him. His body was too exhausted. He couldn't move anymore.

And the monster was here. It was reaching. Ready to eat him, now.

_[. . . that you and I share the same heartbeat.]_

A clear chime sounded through the darkness like the rings on a monk's shajaku. The shadows dissolved and rippled away like the reflections in a pond as someone threw in a stone.

Another whistle came, louder than the first and over-riding the shadow monster's voiceless shriek.

[We are only ghosts in this world.]

The monster swiped at him again, but missed. Gasping, his eyes still squeezed shut so tightly that they ached, Haji crawled away towards the sweet, clear tone.

_[You should not exist, Haji.]_

Finally, it was gone. Wisped away like smoke caught in a good breeze.

Laying on his stomach, his hot breaths coating the wooden boards with a fine sheen of moisture, Haji reached for the keen whistling like a parched boy begging for rain. He held onto the pitch of clear ringing, clutching his blanket as if it was a physical manifestation of the sound. Slowly, carefully, by increments of a rice paper width, Haji opened aching slanted eyes.

They were immediately awashed with the cool light that illuminated the bare courtyard before the kitchen. It turned the hard-packed ground beneath a bone white that allowed for no shadows and lined the gently rounded cheek of the single person there. Then it glinted off the bright edge of her slim sword.

_[I should not be here.]_

She seemed like an enchanted fairy that had materialized from the ethereal moonbeams as she moved through the katas. She slid fluidly from one stance to another; slim fingers stretched gracefully, loose hair flowing as reeds would sway in the wind. Her sword twisted through the air so quickly only a brief streak of silver left one to imagine that the sword was not itself a product – a trick – of the pale orb above. Then she would suddenly be still. For a heartbeat or perhaps an eternity such as a mountain would withstand. But from one breathe to the next and she was springing up, becoming a wraith.

_[You should not exist.]_

He slumped in total and exhausted relief like a traveler finding shelter at the end of his long and arduous journey.

Lids, heavy with fatigue fell willingly over brown eyes. He did not try to fight to keep them open like he'd done on so many other nights just as this. Did not try to watch the end of her routine, which he had never accomplished yet. Did not try to keep her in his sight.

_[We are spirits with no time.]_

The smell of sweat and cool night air mingled pleasantly in his drifting mind, reminding him of other such nights when slumber had also eluded him. His oniisan's breaths became distant. The whispering of her feet fading. Sensations became dim.

A rising mist edged across the veranda to brush against Haji's flushed cheeks like a fine drizzle.

_[We share the same heartbeat. Just listen.]_

Misao stared contemplatively at the bright moon above. She sat on the windowsill, leaning against one side of the frame and braced the other side with her leg. One elbow was propped loosely atop her bent knee as a slightly chilly breeze brushed past her. Only the special cut of her kimono allowed her such a casual posture.

The conversation with Jiya had stroked her natural curiosity. The mystery surrounding this Li woman in the past and this Li youth in the present worried her in some ways. But she could not quite place her finger on the worry that was worming its way into her thoughts.

What Kuro and Okon had found had been scarce, which hadn't surprised her greatly. Apparently, Li was the son of a deceased spice and tea merchant in Shanghai, and while the business wasn't floundering, it certainly wasn't flourishing. Meaning what would be urgent enough for the sole heir to suddenly leave to traipse around Japan?

She flipped her braid over one shoulder to toy with it absently. Information on a Shigeta that had made a trip to China had turned up nothing, although this _was_ only an initial investigation. The information Jiya had given her would be sufficient in tracking down this Japanese man. She hoped.

"Okashira?"

She turned at the soft voice outside her room. "Come in, Okon."

Once the taller woman had entered and closed the door behind her, Misao leapt to her feet. "Don't call me that. It makes me feel old and decrepit." Then she added almost as an afterthought, "Like Jiya."

"Yes, Okashira."

Misao gave a sharp glance. The corners of Okon's mouth, twitched, however, and Misao giggled instead. Then her face settled into a serious complacency that Okon disliked seeing on the younger woman. Despite what she'd say, at these times, Misao was her okashira and the fact made her both proud and sad. Proud that the exuberant little girl had grown into such a fine woman, and sad that the little girl had to go through many hardships to become such a woman.

"When do you think we will have an answer?" Misao said.

"Within this month. The birds will not cover the distance from here to Nagasaki overnight."

"I know. I _know._ But that's too long. Much too long." She absently tugged her kimono folds, a habit she'd begun right after putting one on for the first time.

"But the wait will be worthwhile. They can use the telegraph. That will be much faster and more accurate than any rumors we happen to hear."

The telegraph. What a wonderful invention of information. Since the government had installed the line between Nagasaki and Shanghai, Oniwanbanshu's overseas informers had been so much easier to contact. However, they still had to rely on carrier owls to deliver messages from the Okashira in Kyoto to former members in Nagasaki.

Blowing a frustrated sigh that lifted her bangs, Misao tugged on her kimono again before flopping down ungracefully. Okon allowed herself an amused lift of a brow then asked gently, "What is troubling you, Misao?"

"I don't know." The braided ninja propped her chin in one hand and stared morosely at the floor. "What was Daidouji-san thinking? I mean, she obviously thought that brat needed our help. But he's hiding something, I know it. But if he needed our help, why's he hiding information from us? And his little brother? I don't know if I was going to believe that, but Daidouji-san had confirmed it. Li came with a little boy, that's for sure. And he had a Japanese name, Okon. A _Japanese_ name. Not Chinese. Japanese. So he might be telling the truth and all he's doing is looking for this Shigeta guy, but if he is then why is he not telling us everything?"

Okon remained silent.

"And I know he's not going to just sit still, dammit! He's going to go out and cause trouble, I just know it! I mean, look at what happened at the market today! If he hadn't run into us and if I hadn't been so easy on him, he could've gotten himself killed! What if he'd run into the yakuza, huh? What was he gonna do? He doesn't know _anybody_. He barely knows what he's doing and kami-sama, but I don't think anyone's gonna _want_ to help such a brat!"

Okon remained silent.

"I mean, how the heck is he supposed to find 'Shigeta' if he doesn't even know who to _ask!_ If he hadn't met Daidouji-san, what was he going to do, wander around until he managed to bump into the man?!" Misao snorted, "I bet the fool would have done so, too!"

Okon finally said quietly, "Are you worried, Misao?"

There was no hesitation. "Of course. He may be a brat, but he's still just a kid."

"A kid," Okon said slowly. "But he may be older than you."

She waved her hand airily, "Doesn't matter. _I _think he's a kid."

And that, Okon mused, was that for Misao. "So, what do we do in the meantime?"

Misao sighed. "I don't know. But make sure he stays in Kyoto in the next month."

"I'll make sure Daidouji-san is made aware of this."

Shaking her head, Misao stood up again, "No. Don't worry about that. I'm going to pay her a visit tomorrow."

"And check up on Li, too, I suppose?" Okon raised one brow.

"Or his 'brother'." Misao leaned against the window, allowing the chill breeze to brush back her dark hair. "I need to make sure that the boy is not just a decoy."

A few moments passed in silence before Okon ventured tentatively, "Misao, I don't wish to be rude, but . . ."

"But why am I doing all this, right?"

"Yes," Okon sighed in relief. Of course Misao would just say it so frankly. She didn't even seem to be aware that as Okashira, she did not need to divulge such information with her subordinates.

Misao tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I don't know, Okon. It was something Jiya said. Tea . . . and Li Xiao Yan. . . . I know information is our business, but he seemed. . . not lost in thoughts, but lost in memories."

"Memories?" Okon said. "Well, he is getting older. I suppose he will be given to reminiscing."

The younger ninja shook her head. "No, Okon. There was something else. He didn't hear the name, 'Li Xiao Yan' in passing. It was something else. It was something closer."

Misao stood by the window silently. Shadows grew long against her features and the cool illumination of her cheekbones grew from those shadows like unattached lumps. Okon stifled a slight shiver as the breeze blew through again, bringing with it a distant, unknown skittering like dry leaves. Except that she knew there were no leaves yet. All the plants were only starting to bud.

Long moments passed and Misao continued to stare pensively out the window. Uncomfortable with such uncharacteristic stillness from the young ninja, Okon purposefully shifted loudly. "Misao," she said.

"Yes, Okon?" Still no movement from the young Okashira.

Okon shifted again. When Misao was given to such anxious brooding on the affairs in the Oniwanbanshu, Okon could hardly stifle a sting of resentment against her icy, former Okashira. How could he force her into such a situation? A choice that had irrevocably shaped the path of her life?

"Misao," she repeated. "Whatever you wish to pursue, I will gladly follow and I will do so because you are not only my okashira, but my family as well. I will do as you bid because I could do no less. Because I have full confidence in my okashira and my sister."

"Okon . . ." Misao unfolded herself and suddenly launched at the elder woman.

Surprised, but not greatly, Okon caught the braided kunoichi and automatically hugged the smaller girl. Slim arms encircled her neck like they'd used to when they had both been younger and Misao had searched for a mother in the available Okon. Perhaps it had been more of an older sister playing at being a mother, but to the tiny girl sniffing about a scraped knee, she had been the loving embrace that made it all better.

"Thanks, Okon," she murmured. Then she pulled back and smiled impishly at the older shinobi. "So, if I jumped off a cliff, would you still follow me?"

Smiling just as mischievously, Okon replied, "But didn't you already do that?"

"Well," Misao huffed, "then why didn't I see you there?"

Sunlight touched his eyelids and warmed his skin. Haji shifted, turning away from the intrusive glare to burrow deeper into his blanket. The soft sliding of a shoji caused him to snap awake and sit up suddenly. Unfortunately, this proved too great for his still recovering body and he fell back with a soft plop onto his futon.

"Don't be an idiot, Haji," Xiao Yan said. "Go back to sleep."

The shoji closed with a whispered thunk. Then the gentle vibrations of her footsteps through the floorboards grew faint as she strode away.

He hoped she was only going to practice the daily exercises. He didn't want to stay behind again. Yesterday had been the first time she'd left him alone for so long, since they had arrived in Japan.

When they had finally set foot upon the dry ground, the first thing he'd noticed about Japan was the smell. It had been horrible like rotting fish and hadn't been all that different from Shanghai's port. Then he'd seen the sailors and merchants and they had looked and smelled just like the sailors and merchants back in Shanghai. The niggling sense of fear that he'd felt since he'd discovered that Oniisan's mama had disappeared had abated somewhat with this familiarity.

But once they had gotten off the skiff and tucked their small bundles of spare clothing under their arms, he had glimpsed a Japanese man with the wide pants that they wore. He'd stared at the man, confused because the sharply slanted eyes and the narrow nose were so much more similar to what he saw in his own reflections. He and Xiao Yan had traveled further away from the docks and more and more people like that had walked the streets, until it was Xiao Yan, who seemed out of place with her gently-rounded cheeks and cat-like eyes.

Yet the uncomfortable discovery had been eclipsed with awe and wonder when they had come upon a tree-lined avenue and a profusion of pale-pink—almost white—blossoms seemed to burst from every branch upon those trees. Even Xiao Yan had been unable to move. She had stared at it with the same breathless quality Haji had felt. Their carefully maintained garden could not compare to the simple beauty of a line of blossoming cherry trees.

They had stood there, amazement plain upon their faces and had shared a glance of true astonishment. Without consciously thinking about it, they had scooted closer as they advanced down the lane as if their shared isolation could push back the ending of this journey. But it seemed as if that companionship could not be sustained any further now that their primary reason for coming to Kyoto had resurfaced. Namely, whatever it was that Oniisan's ghost mama wanted Oniisan to do.

Haji pushed back the heavy blanket, suddenly feeling too warm. He wished Oniisan's ghost mama would never return so Oniisan wouldn't leave him again. But he knew that was a selfish thought. So he tried to think of something else.

And as his mind worked to erase the imagining of never seeing the ghost mama again, images of his oniisan's midnight sword katas quickly followed suit. Although, most of it was blurry and he could not remember much more.

He grimaced. Had she seen him? Otherwise, how had he returned to the room? Certainly, back home, there was Liu Tseng or Siu Qu, Mama's maid, to bring him back to his room. Who had brought him back? Was it Ayu? Or worse . . . Xiao Yan?

Haji almost flinched at that thought. If his oniisan had found him, he would have been angry. At the worst, certainly, his oniisan would surely have berated him for being such a fool.

But then, she hadn't _seemed _particularly angry. Maybe it had been a delusional product of his fevered imagination? A dream?

He opened tea brown eyes to examine the discarded blanket. He stared uncomprehendingly at the scuffed and abused article then slowly sat up. The room spun, but through sheer stubbornness, he gritted his teeth and settled into a sitting position.

Had it been a dream?

Pulling the blanket closer to examine a frayed corner and remembering the vividness of the luminous moon and bone-white courtyard, confusion wrinkled his slim brows. Was it only his imagination?

A low knocking pulled his attention away and a familiar cheerful voice came through the thin rice papers.

"Haji-kun. Are you awake?"

"Um, uh, yeah. Uh, I mean, yes, I am awake, um. . . ."

"May I come in? I have your breakfast and your medicine."

"Oh! Yes! Um, please come in."

As the shoji slid open, Haji's gaze skittered from the abused blanket to the smiling countenance of the ocean-eyed young man.

Or had Soujiro brought him back to his room?

"Good morning!" Soujiro chirped. He placed the two trays of food before Haji and left the shoji open, allowing buttery sunlight to stream into the room. "Where is your illustrious brother this beautiful morning, hm?"

Unfortunately, Haji's ears had become inexplicably sensitive since his abrupt rise. He winced slightly at Soujiro's overly cheerful query. "Uh, good m-morning?"

The elder man tilted his head like a bird. "Are you in pain, Haji-kun?"

Haji shook his head then regretted it as the room resumed tipping crazily. "Er, no, not really."

"Haji-kun." Soujiro leaned forward to press him gently back against the futon. "You need to lie down. Your eyes are literally spinning."

And all the while speaking, Haji could only note that Soujiro's smile never completely disappeared. It waned, but always, the corners remained tipped upwards. It had been the same yesterday.

_"How did you kill your mother, Haji?"_

_ "I was stronger than her. I'm here and she's . . . not. . . ."_

_ "What do you mean?"_

_ "She's a ghost now. That's what Mother told me."_

_ "But you said she was dead."_

_ "She's a ghost now. I made her into a ghost."_

Not once had the smile wavered. It was like staring at a mask he'd seen several of the Japanese children wearing. It was scary. Haji could not understand why, but the masks had scared him each time they had covered their faces with them.

Haji shook his head, more carefully this time. "'m hot," he mumbled and resisted the hand pushing him back.

"Hot? Oh, my. That just won't do at all, will it?" Almost humming, the cheerful man reached for the basin of water and dipped in the linen hanging off the basin's rim. As he wrung out the excess water, he said, "Well, how about trying some of Ayu-san's wonderful soup? It's good and nutritious and hot and scrumptious and . . ." Soujiro continued to list all the properties of the soup in a sing-song voice and patted the cool, damp linen against Haji's forehead.

"How does that feel?" he asked once he'd finished.

Haji nodded. He wanted to ask if Soujiro ever stopped smiling. Haji, himself, certainly couldn't imagine smiling that much for that long. Didn't the man's cheeks ache?

But in some ways, he wanted to ask because it was frightening. He looked so much like Xiao Yan-oniisan at times. The way her eyes became terribly flat and blank when she was especially displeased.

"Thank you, Soujiro-niichan." Haji ducked his head to sip at his soup. He made a disgusted face at the twist of brown paper that was tucked unobtrusively next to a covered cup of hot water. Soujiro had made him drink all of the bitter drought yesterday for lunch _and_ dinner. He peeked up at the smiling man and decided not to try and ask if he could leave off of drinking his medicine. If he couldn't handle even something as simple as that, Soujiro would be right to leave him alone.

"I know the medicine is bitter," Soujiro said suddenly and gently, "but I want you to get your strength back, and the best way to do that is to follow the doctor's instructions. Do you understand, Haji?"

Haji nodded and glanced up. When the older man said nothing for a long while, Haji finally replied, "Yes, um, yes, I, uh, understand."

Although his smile remained fixed, Soujiro's ocean-blue eyes darkened before glazing over like a smooth pane of glass used for the windows in those British buildings. Haji quickly dropped his head and hunched over, expecting a scathing scolding for lying when he truly did not understand. But he didn't want Soujiro to go away because he was weak.

_[I'll leave you.]_

His eyes burned and he blinked quickly. He mustn't cry. His antics last night were already disgusting enough. He must be strong.

"Haji-kun? Are you alright?"

Haji blinked quickly. He didn't want Soujiro to leave.

"Are you alright? Do you feel hot? Do you feel cold? Haji-kun?"

"S-Soujiro-niichan?" he said instead.

"Yes?"

The blossom studded branches of the cherry tree in the courtyard swayed and rustled, bringing a faint, flower petal smell into the room.

"Is it really a good morning? It . . ." he ducked his head shyly, "It smells very nice."

Soujiro's smile grew wider. It seemed to melt into his eyes and his cheeks and somehow, Haji felt a little better.

"Would you like to come out?" Soujiro asked. He sat back. "I think sitting outside with the blanket for a little while will be alright. The sun is bright and the air is getting warmer."

"Um . . ."

"Yes? Was there something else?"

"Um, I-I, well . . . I mean . . . um, that is . . . I-I want, uh . . . I m-mean, um, could you, well . . ." Haji trailed off, his throat suddenly feeling too tight and his heart beating impossibly quickly as nervousness compelled him to pick at a loose thread on his futon. He mumbled, "I, um, I don't want to . . . um . . . sit alone. . . ."

And as soon as he finished he wanted to cringe, except that would have been yet another demonstration of his weakness. Of course Soujiro would refuse. He had his chores and couldn't spend all of his time with a sick boy. Haji was being selfish. How could he ask Soujiro to stop working just to _sit _with him? And why would he want to sit with a weak little boy anyway?

Haji opened his mouth to recant the request, but Soujiro's voice overrode his.

"Okay," he said simply.

The denial lodged in Haji's throat and he squeaked out a "Huh?" instead.

"I'll be busy for a while this morning, but when lunch time comes around, I'm sure Ayu-san won't mind if you and I enjoy a bit of the sun then. Does this agree with you, Haji-kun?"

"Um . . ." Instantaneous relief and gratitude washed through Haji's being and he almost slumped from the sheer rush of feelings to his chest, where they gathered and swelled like a bubble. It was so much and he could barely understand why he suddenly felt like crying and suppressed the sigh rising from his lungs. But to his utter horror, tears pricked his eyes again. He quickly ducked his head.

"Haji." A calloused hand landed gently atop his bowed head. Soft like the feathery touch of a sparrow's wings. "Like I told you yesterday, you do not have hide your tears. I do not want you to feel that they are worthless."

But Haji shook his head. No. The tears were only weaknesses. He had to be strong and not cry because Oniisan was strong and didn't cry. He had to make Oniisan proud. He had to make sure Oniisan wouldn't leave him. This man didn't understand.

With the same stubbornness that had taken him so far yesterday night, Haji stared at his pale hands in his lap and tried to ignore the comfortable weight and warmth of the equally pale hand atop his head. He stared until the hand finally moved away and its owner sighed inaudibly. He stared until he was sure his eyes would not betray him and then raised his head.

"Haji."

Haji tensed.

"I know you won't understand," Soujiro continued, "but I want you to know that no matter how worthless you believe your tears to be, they are extremely important to me. I want you to cry when you're sad or laugh when you're happy. If you don't . . ."

And though the corners of Soujiro's mouth remained tipped upward, his brows and his eyes and his cheeks suddenly fell down, as if someone had attached invisible threads to his face and pulled down on them. Without thinking, Haji placed one index finger on the muscle between the Japanese man's brows and pushed upward. Inadvertently, he also caught Soujiro's ocean-blue gaze and could only stare in confusion at something dark and glittering in their depths.

Soujiro gently sat back out of reach of Haji's finger, but his smile widened until the invisible threads were gone. "If you don't do that, Haji," he continued, "you'll become a ghost. Like your mother. . . . Like me. . . ."

_[You should not exist.]_

A mild breeze blew through the open doorway, brushing back Soujiro's earth-brown hair. He turned into the wind to look out at the smaller courtyard beyond. When he turned back, his eyes were glass again and he piped a cheerful response, "Well, you should eat before the food gets too cold. I'll be back for your tray, so make sure you take your medication." He mock-frowned, "I mean it, now." Then he gathered the second, untouched tray and moved towards the door, "I'll be back, Haji-kun. I won't leave you alone."

"Oh. U-um . . . 'kay," Haji whispered.

"I'll see you later." One last smile and then the blue-clad young man was gone.

"Thank-you," Haji whispered into the silence of the room. It fell like the sibilant hiss of a disembodied spirit before the breeze blew it out the door.

A/N: Gasp! An update! But I really don't feel bad about not updating for so long. (That's right! I ain't apologizin'! Nyah-hah-hah-hah!) Really, I actually want to thank everyone for being so patient. (Really, _really _patient.) You're the best!

This story is also archived hakubaikou.com. haku baikou has collected some very, very good fics, so I highly recommend that Rurouni Kenshin fans check it out.

I also have one request and two general responses:

1.) What is your initial impression of Haji? This is the first chapter from his point of view and although I've gotten a lot of feedback on Xiao Yan's character, I haven't received much about him. I want to know if I'm portraying his character as I imagine him to be. Thanks.

2.) "Xiao Yan is a brat!" Hehehehe. Yes, she is a brat. And I'm glaaad. You'll see why she is so as the story progresses. Well, I hope I can accomplish that anyways.

3.) "Why is Mother so mean?!" Not telling. Yet. She _is_ an integral part of Xiao Yan's characterization, though, so how can I not develop her character more?

AaarikaaA: Thanks!

Mayorie: I was aiming for "profound smile" for Shenshen. I'm just a bit surprised no one else has asked me what that meant. Congratulations, you're the first!

As for Soujiro's "reforming", yes, I also believe that Soujiro would not be able to fully accept Kenshin's ideals _right away_. But this comment also got me thinking about reforming like alcoholics and whatnot, and my mind sortof petered off into a weird world where the cast of Ruruoni Kenshin participated in an AA group. Assassins Anonymous. Hehe. I bet I'm not making any sense at all. Nyargh! But for the portrayal of his character, thanks for the comment, because I _really_ don't want him to be Kenshin's copycat.

ChiisaiLammy: Wow. You are amazing. Your reviews were very helpful and made me _think_ further upon this story and its characters and its historical/cultural accuracy. (By the way, my head _hurts_ from thinking so much! Argh! Heheh.) After reading your review, I went to the library and checked out three books on the history and culture of China and Japan. And I believe my story will be much better because I've actually done this research. So thank you for pointing that out to me. (Although, I'm still not done with the researching. I don't know if I should curse you or thank you for making me think further upon this aspect of my story. Nyaaarrrgghh.)

Thanks for your comment on my dialogues. I suppose it is just that I feel like my dialogues are very monotonous. There doesn't seem to be a great variety in the tone I set for each character's interaction. Or maybe I'm just imagining things?

I really enjoy your reviews. Please don't feel shy or feel that you're saying too much. After all I can't improve much if I don't have constructive criticism.

Shimizu Hitomi: Thanks. Yes, Misao is about twenty-one, now. Hehehe.

I'm glad Xiao Yan is an interesting OC. Hopefully she won't develop into a Mary Sue, but I seem to be going in the right direction from the comments everyone has been making. Thank-you very much.

Black Aura-Sama: Hahaha! Yes, I really don't like angst. I think it's one of those "I hate things in others that I find in myself." Hehehe. Thanks for stopping by and reviewing!

DarkMoonGoddess: Thank you!

SilverArcher: Thanks!

CurlsofSerenity: Haha. No, Xiao Yan is a "she", but chapter 5 is from Soujiro's point of view and he thinks Xiao Yan is still a "he"


End file.
